While They Watch
--
He could almost smell the rain on that cool autumn day. It wasn't so much like him to pay attention to such intangible details, despite being a poet he was. That was an afternoon when he treated himself to another cup of green tea, as a gratification for his day of good work, good enough for his standard. He was the type to do his job rather swiftly when he's allowed concentration, a luxury which he no longer consider as one as of late. He decided that it was a kind of tranquility that dripped with bitterness.
Not that he found the sensation despicable. The taste of dried persimmons, he reflected, was too sweet anyway.
He didn't quite realize how much time he had spent thinking, contemplating over a certain tree's bearing another fruit last season until he saw some recognizable faces passing by to light up the quarter. With a puff of breath, he rose and gathered the washi papers left blank, his brush and his sumi, leaving two lonely cups of green tea stripped off their warm steam.
--
aQx
[10052009 – 1749]
I was thinking about Kira's being a poet when I wrote this. And about his writer's block moments. And what he does when it happens. 8D; Anyway, numbers in the brackets indicate the date this piece was written, in case anyone's wondering. Much thanks in advance for reviews! :D