Water
It had rained a little earlier that day, and the heady smell of summer rain rising from hot concrete was still with them. Tanpopo the bird was playing in one of the shining puddles left over, dipping his head into the water and shaking it with tiny determined squeaks. Himawari's flowery skirt was a little soggy from an unnoticed water-patch on the edge of the veranda. She wiggled her toes in the damp grass.
Yuuko trailed cool fingers down the back of Himawari's neck. "A woman's charm point."
Himawari said nothing. She didn't need reminding that she (damaged goods) was going to have to be more careful now: no wearing kimono with the collar draped gracefully loose at the back (damaged goods), no swimsuits, no trips to the public baths (damaged goods), not unless she wanted everyone to know that she (damaged goods) wasn't normal.
"Sometimes we pay and pay again, not so?" said Yuuko, wiping the last of the salve from her fingers.
"Yes!" said Himawari, beaming. "Today I brought salad!"
Tanpopo squeaked and flew to sit on her shoulder. He shook his wings and tail and spattered tiny drops of water all over her neck and face and she laughed, and fed him a sunflower seed.
It was a beautiful salad, with five kinds of freshly gathered greens and bright nasturtium petals scattered on top for colour and a refreshing peppery flavour. Three streets away, an elderly gentleman lamented the absence of nasturtiums at the only flower shop in the neighbourhood: nasturtiums, his dying wife's favourite flower. Ah, but life is hard.