The rain-soaked bench is still too wet to dry, but the sparrow has already folded its wings. I left my sneakers out after the rain yesterday, and this morning I saw the marks left by the sun drying them.

In the puddle by the bus stop, the sky sat for a moment. A passing breeze brushed over it.

When I stepped on the wet leaves, a sparrow tilted its head. The passing breeze made me stop in my tracks without realizing it.

In the neighborhood park on an afternoon after the rain, a chestnut burr fallen under the bench lay split open, still wet.

On the morning after the autumn rain, a sparrow's shadow brushed across the bus stop glass. I saw my reflection in the window and smiled a little.

Only after the persimmon tree leaves in front of the alley gate had all fallen did sunlight reach the ground. Beneath it, a cat sat with its eyes narrowed.

A pigeon sitting on a dew-dampened bench shook its wings, and droplets scattered. Sunlight settled there first.