Oku-Hamana Diary 9: 'Rain Followed by Sun. At the End of a Rainy Day' Saya no Moyu

Friday, May 2nd
The rain, just as forecast, has been falling since morning.
However, since it was supposed to stop by evening, I was secretly hopeful.
With that in mind, I went out to run errands while it was still raining, and while taking a break at a convenience store, light finally began to shine from the western sky, so I headed straight for my usual rice field.

When I got out of the car and started walking, I could see a vast blue sky, as if the cloudy weather from just a moment ago had been a lie.
It must have already been clearing up from the west, but the wind still remained—and not only that, the rain that had passed had also greatly altered the landscape.

This is a wide rural area, so when it floods from long rains, it turns into a large pond. The water surface was dotted with emerging grasses and flowers, transforming it into something reminiscent of a marshy pond.

Although sunset has become later now that it is early summer—the pond that appeared only today after the rain—how deep the blue of the water was.

Looking closely, there were mottled white things submerged in it. What could it be? Before I could even think, I looked up at the sky in surprise—I realized then that the scattered clouds were being reflected in the water.

I headed straight west between the rice fields, following a hedge of thin-leaved plants. Since the path had formed puddles and ponds in places, I chose to walk on the shallower spots. In the fields enclosed by hedges, there were some plots covered in weeds, but among the overgrown grasses and flowers, something stood out, towering above the rest.

It was the 'Gijigiji-Suppa' that my mother had taught me the common name for just recently while we were walking.
Weeds are strange things.
Once you know their face and name, for some reason I don't know—the moment you learn them, they seem to pop up
everywhere.

However, compared to when they were red flower buds, the proliferated appearance of the tips is, admittedly, no longer as cute. But if you imagine it as a grassy plain swaying in the wind under the setting sun, it has quite a bit of charm.

Past the fields, when both sides of the road became rice paddies—this area still had some grassy patches left—several lapwings would repeatedly fly up from the grass, circle the sky, and land back in the fields.

Occasionally, they would tilt their heads back against the resistance of the headwind, taking it in with their whole bodies—I couldn't help but be captivated by their white forms as they spread their wings in that moment.

When I reached the riverbank and went down to the path that goes under the railway bridge, I was relieved to see that the path hadn't flooded despite the long rain.
Of course, that is because I lack the courage my mother has to walk along the curb at the water's edge.
When I came out onto the top of the bank past the railway bridge, the scenery opened up from the distant east to the south through the tall, withered grass.

The mountains of the Yumibari range surrounding Oku-Hamana.
Chinquapin flowers were blooming as if to fill the mountainsides—
as if they were holding onto the lingering light of early summer just a little longer.