the wet red came from beyond the trees
It was a steady and warm rain that patted down onto my head. They were not the cold shocking drops that set off body-alarms, but the warm drops of an endless hot shower wrapping around the base of your neck, allowing your thoughts to drift around without aim. I walked about without purpose in this seaside town in Japan. I ended up sleeping in a ryokan, where ancient samurais used to rest on journeys with rice-paper sliding doors that you close slowly with purpose and silence. It was warm, and there was an amazing bath with old wooden buckets to fill with hot water to bathe and relax while watching the rain out an old, open window.
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