Dog Days at the Shrine

In the sweltering embrace of the Dog Days of Summer, the ancient shrine of Inari Okami baked under the relentless sun. Cicadas buzzed with a frenetic energy that only amplified the stillness, the air thick with the scent of pine needles and stagnant humidity. At the entrance, flanking the weathered torii gate, stood a pair of komainu, their stone forms radiating an almost palpable heat.

They appeared to be statues, but beneath the shimmering heat, they were flesh and blood, ancient spirits guarding the shrine. The open-mouthed Komainu, A-gyō, on the right, seemed to pant, while Un-gyō, on the left with her mouth closed, appeared to ripple subtly.

“Another day of this infernal heat, Un,” A-gyō rumbled, his voice vibrating through the air.

Un-gyō remained silent. She represented the end of things. Secretly wished for the end of these Dog Days of Summer herself. But she and A were there to protect the shrine. Still, she could see why A-Gyo felt the way he did. The heat was reaching deep into her stone form. She wished the rules would allow them to take their spirit flesh forms and seek the nearest river. They wouldn’t be gone long--just long enough to get their fur thoroughly wet.

“Don’t tell me you’re meditating again,” A-gyō sighed. “It’s too hot for such strenuous mental exercises. My fur is practically melting.”

“You have no fur, A-gyō,” Un-gyō’s soft voice finally broke the silence. “You are stone."

"A technicality!” he argued, shifting his weight. “This heat penetrates my very essence! The next tourist who complains about being ‘warmed to the bone' will find their words quite literal."

A young woman approached, fanning herself, and paused to admire the komainu. “Oh, they’re so realistic!” she exclaimed, reaching out to touch A-gyō. He wanted to show her how real he could be, but these times, he knew, wouldn’t look on that well. Anyone who saw him in his spirit flesh form would be seen as slightly less than mentally together. Crazy, mortals called it.

A-gyō tensed. "Careful, little mortal," he muttered, too deep for human ears. “These ancient guardians appreciate their personal space."

Un-gyō watched the woman with a steady gaze, a hint of amusement in her closed mouth. The female komainu typically guards those inside, while the male guards the structure, according to Fandom.

The woman admired the detail. "Look at the detail on the teeth! And the open mouth – it’s just so expressive."

"Expressive of a desire for a cool stream, perhaps," A-gyō grumbled.

"You are guardians, A-gyō," Un-gyō reminded him softly. "Our duty is to the shrine, not to our personal comfort."

"Easy for you to say," he retorted. "You don't have to worry about attracting flies."

Un-gyō sighed gently. "Such trivial concerns. The purpose of our mouths is symbolic, A-gyō. Mine represents 'un,' the end, and yours 'a,' the beginning. Together, we are 'a-un', the cycle of life and death, the Alpha and the Omega."

"Yes, yes, the Sanskrit lesson again," A-gyō scoffed, though he had pride in the symbolism. "But even the Alpha and Omega appreciate a good breeze on their… metaphorical fur."

The woman moved on into the shade. A-gyō watched her go, a flicker of something wistful in his gaze. "She seemed nice. Perhaps a kind offering of cool water would not go amiss."

"Offerings are for the kami, A-gyō," Un-gyō replied, firm but kind. "Our sustenance is from the shrine’s spiritual energy."

"A shame," he sighed, shifting on the scorching stone. "This heat reminds me of that summer, centuries ago, when the village caught fire. Remember the smoke?"

Un-gyō’s expression softened. "I remember. We stood firm, even as the flames licked at the shrine grounds."

"And the little boy," A-gyō whispered. "The one who sought refuge behind us. He clung to my leg, convinced our stone forms would protect him."

"And they did," Un-gyō said. "We shielded him until his parents returned."

"He came back, years later, a grown man," A-gyō recalled, a tremor in his frame. "He brought us offerings, not of food or drink, but of beautifully carved miniature foxes."

Un-gyō nodded. "He remembered. He understood."

"Not like some of these youngsters today,” A-gyō grumbled, gesturing at teenagers taking selfies.

“They are learning,” Un-gyō said gently. “Respect for the old ways takes time like the slow erosion of stone. It happens a little at a time. It requires teaching at every age.”

A-gyō considered this. “Perhaps you are right, Un. Perhaps they will come to understand, in time.” He stretched, groaning. “Still, he wishes they would understand the need for a good, sturdy umbrella. This sun is truly unbearable.”

The Dog Days continued, a repetition of heat. Tourists came and went. A-gyō lamented the heat, and Un-gyō offered patient wisdom. Their dialogue, a timeless rhythm, echoed the cycle they represented.

One stifling afternoon, a small child approached with a wilted daisy. “You look very hot,” the child said, offering the flower. "This is for you.”

A-gyō’s stone heart skipped a beat. “A thoughtful gesture, little one,” he rumbled softly. “But flowers wilt in this heat. It would be a shame to see such a gift perish.”

"It’s just a little one,” the boy insisted. “My mommy says flowers like water."

Un-gyō spoke. “He is right, A-gyō. Kindness, however small, can be a refreshing balm in the harshest of seasons."

A-gyō considered. Looking at the child’s earnest face, his mouth exhaled a gentle, cool breath that revived the daisy.

The child’s eyes widened. "It’s better!" he squealed. “You made it better!”

A-gyō was speechless, glancing at Un-gyō.

Un-gyō’s closed mouth curved distinctly. "The power of life, A-gyō. Even in the depths of summer’s heat, it endures. It is the beginning, and the end."

The child, oblivious, skipped back to his parents. A-gyō watched him go, a faint smile on his lips, a new lightness to his ancient form. The Dog Days still raged, but a tiny flicker of coolness had been kindled, a reminder that kindness, however small, could refresh and renew.