The autumn rains have begun, and the old aches remind us of the season's turn. My knuckles are stiff as dried bamboo this morning—a familiar price for many years of wielding the katana and guiding our village. The younger women groan about their joints, but I tell them: these pains are proof of a life lived fiercely. We are the pillars of this village; we bear the weight so that the walls do not fall. A hot soak with mugwort for the ladies tonight. The men will work harder to earn their warmth.