If music be the food of love, play on. Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.
— Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare
Today, I wound up the musical box I got from Otaru and examined the mechanism of it: the tiny teeth of the turning gold-plated gears and the small spinning cylinder of metal pins that pluck at the steel comb of tuned teeth; clear ringing sounds occur as the teeth of the comb slip off the pins gracefully. Although the sight is hypnotising, it fails to elicit more intricate details of my memories of Otaru. The chirpy tinkles from this magical little thing, however, entrances me and reminds me of the light and airy melodies that filled the air in Otaru.