Sunday, August 26, 2007

Drop by drop

The hot sun struck the backs of their close-shaven necks. It was a peaceful, uneventful, glorious Sunday afternoon.
Yet Kiyoaki remained convinced that at the bottom of this world, which was like a leather bag filled with water, there
was a little hole, and it seemed to him that he could hear time dripping from it, drop by drop.

from Spring Snow by Yukio Mishima

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