This is me, telling again. I had a really long talk with David Novak about this story after I told it that night and some things about it changed for me. The story is about a crane who want to thank a man for his kindness and so she transforms herself into a girl and lives with him as his daughter, weaving for him when she can so that he and his wife have money in their old age. But the relationship is ened when the wife breaks her promise and peeks in on the crane while she is weaving and sees her true form.
It's about keeping a part of you to yourself... I haven't told it agian since that night, but I think that any time I do from now on, I will have to read this poem when I am done.
This door you might not open, and you did;
So enter now, and see for what slight thing
You are betrayed... Here is no treasure hid,
No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring
The sought-for truth, no heads of women slain
For greed like yours, no writhings of distress,
But only what you see... Look yet again—
An empty room, cobwebbed and comfortless.
Yet this alone out of my life I kept
Unto myself, lest any know me quite;
And you did so profane me when you crept
Unto the threshold of this room to-night
That I must never more behold your face.
This now is yours. I seek another place.