Mi emerges like a silent syllable traced in sumi ink across rice-paper, its tonal simplicity in Japanese and Mandarin conjuring images of dew-laden paddies and moonlit waves. In Japanese, it carries the promise of beauty (美), the sweep of the sea (海) or the sweetness of truth (実); in Mandarin, it is the humble grain of rice (米), emblematic of sustenance and quiet abundance. It drifts through names—Emi, Yumi, Naomi—with an elegant restraint, binding each bearer to cherry blossoms’ fleeting brilliance and to porcelain lanterns that shimmer in temple courtyards. Though it seldom crowded the final pages of mid-century Kansas birth registries, Mi arrives with more presence than its two-letter length might suggest—a slender bridge between breeze and bloom, echoing the measured poetry of dawn and dusk in a single, luminous breath.
| Mi Fu - |