The Drowned God
Has the Autumn finally reached into Kyoto's valley? Have we seen an end to the half-delirium that comes in the summer nights? At last come the comfortable evenings spent drifting off towards a more natural sleep. The drone of air-conditioners is hushed, grasshoppers start singing their solitary songs. After many months it seems that Fall is almost upon us.While still in t-shirts at work, the mornings are decidedly more chilly and it won't be long until I pull on a jacket before leaving the house. Now comes the season of typhoons with its lashing rain and angry skies. The nights seem a lot darker, and home seems a lot more enticing. Sports Day was drowned out today, the weeks of preparations coming to little more than a shrug of 'oh well'. The baseball pitch lay under 2 inches of water this morning as students shook off their wet clothes and resigned themselves to extra hours of studying.
Despite being soaked to the bone, finding pools of water trapped in my pockets, I love the rain. Cycling home without umbrella or jacket, I stopped my mad rush for shelter, soaking up the strange silence of the downpour, the water thrumming in my ears and dumbing down the noise of traffic. Sports Day was drowned out today, the weeks of preparations coming to little more than a shrug of 'oh well'. The baseball pitch lay under 2 inches of water this morning, as students shook off their wet clothes and resigned themselves to extra hours of studying.
Despite being soaked to the bone, finding pools of water trapped in my pockets, I love the rain. Cycling home without umbrella or jacket, I stopped my mad rush for shelter, soaking up the strange silence of the downpour, the water thrumming in my ears and dumbing down the noise of traffic. As my brakes squealed to a halt, I watched a long procession of people as they wound their way down the main road in front of our apartment. Carrying one of the portable shrines, the priests were wrapped up in rain coats, great plastic sheets thrown across the old wooden shrine itself. For about ten minutes the people shuffled by, all colours of umbrellas, nodding slowly at the god housed within the small wooden box. As the rain grew stronger, they carried on, taking their charge through the streets, ringing a solitary bell.
I remember those paintings of old old funerals in New Orleans, a train of people in black, all carrying parasols from the burning sun, gently making their way towards the service. Not a funeral, but a celebration, not dampened by the shower.
After a time I soggily squelched upstairs, noticing that over the last week our dragonfly has finally disappeared. He appeared to be around for much longer than 6 weeks and now his job is done his thousands of hatchlings wait in some river or pond. The trees still cling to their leaves, but it is only a matter of weeks before Japan is swept in waves of autumnal reds, yellows and ochres.
Autumn is here and I am thankful for it.
