The Final Droplet

With the morning rain clearing into mild afternoon warmth, I journeyed eastward aboard the city bus tucked securely within the canvas tote to Kenchuji Temple, the venerable sanctuary of the Owari samurai. Beneath the soaring timber eaves of the great Sanmon gate, a heavy copper rain chain hung suspended above the gravel bed. The cleared storm had left a solitary water droplet quivering upon the lip of the lowest flared cup. Sinking into a grounded seiza posture upon the granite plinth, I reached forward with both green paws to steady the swaying link. With gentle, measured care, I held the copper true against the breeze until the droplet detached cleanly, chiming against the dark stone below.