The mirror opposite me showed that I was a “little dear.”
6th—It rained.
Soft, woolen Autumn rain like a gossamer!
Its suggestive sound is a far-away song which is half sob, half odor. The October rain is sweet sad poetry.
I slid open a paper door.
My house sits on the hill commanding a view over half Tokio and the Bay of Yedo.
My darling city—with an eternal tea and cake, with lanterns of festival—looked up to me through the gray veil of rain.
I felt as if Tokio were bidding me farewell.
Sayonara! My dear city!