Water Marks on the Paddy Ridge

One evening when the reed stalks lay down as if the wind would snap them, I sat on a paddy ridge and watched the sky in the water for a long time. That day's dew fell only on the tops of my feet. So you were sitting on the paddy bank. I was beside you, watching water spread across the soil. The sun sank a little lower before the drop on your foot could dry. It must have been an evening when the sun sank faster than the dew could dry. The water mark spread across that soil only began to dry as dusk came on. The wind blew once in between, and it was my sleeve, not the reeds, that stirred first. The wet on my foot, not yet dried, is trying to seep away somewhere. In that moment your sleeve stirred first, the water mark was spreading not only into the soil but into the air as well. While the wet on your foot tried to seep away, the water beneath the reeds had already reached the ridge where I sat. While the wind died and the reeds rose again, the sky over the paddies darkened little by little. Beneath it, the dew made no sound at all.