"I was brought up in a part of the country so remote that it lies beyond the end of the East Great Road. What an uncouth creature I must have been in those days!"

-The Sarashina Diary

Under the cool glass-lipped water in the tranquil sifting of light lies a-resting in pockmarking rust the dilapidatory remains which upon being approached momentarily transport the soul with a soft embrace from the domain of life to that alien aftermath world of deteriorate, where the life has gone quiet and different forces abide, and for the length of one's sojourn the soul will flicker hesitantly as if existence is tableau, but nevertheless the discomfort grows rapid with the echo of time's footfalls and a break is hastily made as you rise for air and the mind is left in a state.

The ruin of a boat. Gulls cry over head. Sun beats down. Sandy beach rubs. Nautilika.

––––––––––––

A stranger has come over the hill and in due time we approach each other. The stranger calls out as the distance between us closes. "Where's the drawing?"

I blink, confused. "What do you mean?"

The stranger sighs and gives a bit of a grimace. "Just remember to draw."

It's bepuzzling. "Aren't I?"

The stranger gives a look at the sun, whistles some to buy a bit of time and then, "Well, it's lackluster."

"What should I be doing? I'm falling asleep here!"

"Well I don't know, but I'll at least say that drawing animals can be a nice way to make a break from the ordinary. It applies your attempts at construction to different structures. And humans these days have a poor eye for animals, so you can draw a form that would ruin a human and it looks just fine on animals." The stranger considered this with a hum. "Hmm. The world's going in a dangerous direction. Good luck."

We passed and when I looked back sometime later the stranger waved, fading in front of the setting sun.