“Lots For Sale!”
Because I don’t see any such unaristocratic sign by the Sumida Gawa.
14th—O snow, yukiya fure, fure!
The season of the city is still within the fence of winter. I was grateful to my fate that conveyed me here to overtake my loving snow.
I settled me by my window in absorption with the snow view of Hudson Gawa.
How busily the snowflakes fall!
Their cautiously silent hurry made me recollect the drama of the China-Japan war. How stealthily the soldiers marched at midnight! Can I ever forget how I tugged my shoji, crying “Victory, Dai Nippon!”
I raised the window, stretching out my arm. I collected the snow-petals in the hollow of my palm. I tasted them.
“Uncle, New York snow is as deliciously savoured as at home,” I said.
Central Park must have been artistically attired.