Warm Rain

I always forget how warm rain feels. Every year it takes so long to come back full circle to this brief lapse between winter and spring, when it is sunny, rainy, warm, cloudy, cool, and what not all in a brief succession of a few days. Sunday is the vernal equinox, and my brother arrives on that day. I wondered about some things this morning-- problems about Kanji and translating poems, the depth of my future looking like the surface of a waveless sea--it could be a few meters deep, or perhaps it has no floor; about interesting things and those mundane, about a poem called "Spring" by Tanikawa Shuntaro, and now I am thinking about using more words to depict an experience that is growing less and less verbal each day.