The Last Awaji

The terraced, flooded rice patties descended from the highway down to the sea.  I wonder how long it would take for me to grow tired of seeing the island of Awaji pass through the bus window, especially on a rainy day like today.  I'm sure this was the last time I will visit the place, one of the first gentle beauties that I encountered in Japan during an outreach in the beginning of my first year.  And every time it has had the same calm breath.  There is something very special about it, something which changes as one crosses over the Akashi bridge, something haunting and timeless about the motionless ferris wheel on the other side which enters the horizon, something magical about the whirling water beneath the bridge, about the large suspended cables.  And then this island of green, which seems so still and yet so alive.  There is no reason to go there, except to be there.  On what occasion I might be lucky enough to return?  Perhaps never.  I may have to take that breath with me, to the best of my abilities.  To be incomplete and reaching for it forever.