The drum at Tamagawa temple is being struck. My watch says four o'clock. A thunderous thump.
Then the train goes by down the hill. Metal on metal. Is this an intrusion? Only if you think it is.
The drum is now being hit very softly. Ping. Ping. Ping. Every thirty seconds. Ping. Can he be practicing? Who is listening besides me?
A couple comes by led by a dachshund. We nod.
In the evening the paper lanterns hanging here will light the way up the road to overlook the river. Ah, the lanterns have come on. Drum practice continues.
While I've been sitting here on this stone ledge, twenty trains have gone by. And the drum has been hit a hundred times. The number is unimportant. So then what is important?
The pings are getting closer together.
I guess I have to go.