To my delight (and that of all the local farmers) it rained cats and koalas today.
The fields felt alive, and the pavement smelt of hot cloud sweat…
I woke up without a bike or car, decided a pterodactyl wasn't the way to go home, and decided to ask a man in a construction truck at a nearby convenience store for a ride.
“Which way are you headed?” I asked in chopped, sliced and sautéed Japanese.
“That way,” he pointed in perfect Japanese.
“Oh, me too!” I said, chopping bits of sliced language and stirring them around with a half-eaten fork.
“Do you think I could get a r---?”
“Muri desu.” (It's not possible/not allowed) he said.
“Alright then, I get it,” I said with only two diced onions.
And off I went, showered in the pouring morning rain; my memory snapping slow aperture shots of yellow blossoms sneaking between rice fields and concrete.
And then, just as I was dripping wet, brinking on epiphany beside a dead strawberry garden,
The same construction truck I had seen before stopped beside me.
“Get in!” the driver said in impeccable farm Japanese. And the kid I'd met before lowered his head and smiled with eyebrows farther away than Neptune.
We chopped a few veggies together on the way home and parted.
“Damn, it's raining cats and koalas today, isn't it?”
And I sat there, and sit here still.... wondering where those koalas are.
And, still chopping brocolli and cucumbers for a superb Japanese salad...