Might it be the beginning of the rainy season? It should be, but the normally dour and completely unreliable weather forecast optimistically seems to predict very little additional rain to the showers we had earlier today. So strange. Thus far, the much lamented coming of the wet season has only yielded a beautiful dark shower which I happily accompanied with reading the paper on the fifth floor of HPAC staring at the rolling mountains and raindrops on the ledge of the windows. I was able to bike before it hit, and by the time I wanted to return home, the sky was only spitting. The sun was setting in dramatic golds and pinks, and in the east, over the river, an incredible rainbow formed. I road mostly solo along the rain-soaked fields and stopped to watch it, feeling the darkened bark of the tree near me, inhaling the humidity. It was so clear, a rainbow shadow formed on its outskirts. I stared at the sky, looking down every now and then. From that open endlessness, and back to Japan. The shinkansen racing by on a bridge in the distance, a nearby sign with Japanese writing, a lonely biker, an opportunistic runner. I kept watching the sky as the sun descended behind its hills, taking with it more and more of the colorful arch. Was it still there, or simply emblazoned on my eyes?
And then I returned to Japan in the flesh, got on my bike, and rode the rest of the way home.
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