The story of KAIHO

K A I H O Smoke lifts sparks into the air. Dusk spreads its cloak. The wind sings without a single word. It grips the doorframe, pulls with all its might, then loosens its hold a little – the cold draught is no invited guest in the sauna. Warmth strokes the skin, empties the weary mind. It takes the bather into its embrace and gives back an old wisdom. That wisdom holds the language of healers. The löyly smells of birch and juniper, the door of tar. There is something noble in this ancient heritage; the sauna was once the fishing ground of old spells. The steam lifts its hissing head. Salt stings the skin. The sun's last ray pushes through the gaps between the logs. It carries the thought back to last summer, brings a moment of pleasure, and leaves the mind with kaiho – a quiet longing. *