Night

It was a night at the end of summer, after watching two episodes of the TV adaptation of The Girl Who Leapt Through Time. I leaned against the windowsill, stepped out onto the balcony, and let the breeze hit me.

A gentle wind swept through the neighborhood garden, carrying away the stifling air. The banyan trees swayed their slender branches comfortably, casting blurry shadows on the ground. Nameless creatures in the corners sang their uneven songs, rising and falling in waves. The air conditioning units on the walls around the garden hummed restlessly — “buzz, buzz, buzz…” — telling stories of summer. Occasionally, lightning flickered across the dusky sky from the other side of the city.

I thought that in this moment, in this scene, I might glimpse a trace of zen. But with not a single human voice to be heard, it was just fucking quiet!