Rain

(Rain at Miyajima by Koitsu, Showa 16, July 1941)

I remember the lanterns;

their delicate paper shells swaying in time with the wind, unconcerned with the rain that drummed down just feet away. I lifted my fingertips, and I could touch the sky. It stretched toward me - sticking to my skin, hiding in my hair; playful. Each footfall sounded with a satisfying thud against the damp wooden walkway.

We moved on, through the quiet streets. The paving stones glistened in the light of shop windows. We arrived at the tea house. Large and open on all sides - it glowed with warmth, piercing the chill of evening. Its wooden structure smelled sweet in the heavy air. Decades of sencha had been served beneath its thatch roof, and it was as though the steam that had come from each cup still lingered. We sat, the clay mugs warming our hands, and listened to the night's embrace.