The verse

The east wind speaks not, yet comes to the door,Brushing each face, it asks if the cold is sore.Send no courier to bear your written word—Carry the flame yourself, warm the wandering bird.

Reading

This slip bids you tend things with your own hand, never delegating the heart; the wind touches all by touching each in person. Meet others with sincerity and an echo arises—yet no fortune is promised, only ask if your heart is true.

The temple keeper adds

A kind sign. The god nodded — small, but real.

[ Draw another at the temple ][ Keep a traffic omamori ]