Another day of rain, hissing through broken sleep and tapping patterns upon the window. Through open eyes hills and distances are found only in memory, while the outside world distorts within the droplets caught upon the cold glass of the window. Making the morning temperature check, and bumbling as I get things ordered for the day, stumbling morning dull as the air infuses with the scent of confirmation. But even before the second coffee is consumed the reading has begun, the soundtrack changed as the mood, brightening again, as the morning passes swiftly in a swathe of fiddle tunes.

Soon, just like yesterday, the rain takes a pause encouraging me to have and early lunch and to go walk somewhere for it. Along the streets braziers are spilling flames into the air, beside them tables are laid out, piled with offerings, this time, I'm told, for the goddess of mercy. Thinking that if I thought that the rain would hold off then it'd be a good day to head to crazy Buddha temple and visit her statue, but the pause wasn't really much of a pause, the sky spitting and spilling rain upon the route as I walk through the streets. Looking along the side of the roads, along the other branching off, almost all of them containing the glow of flames, the shapes bowing towards them as they cast paper offerings to their consuming faith.

Darkness fallen the rain finally stops, the clear air framing the towers of the city centre sharp and precise against the northern hills, lights flickering in their recessed dark. In the alleys around Anju Street figures appear, cloaked against the cold wind, queuing at stalls or gathering around tables as the night falls around them. Walking back to the flat, no stars above, the sky dull and reflective as light pollution stains low clouds flighting upon the breeze, small fires still burning in alcoves and distances, flickering shapes caught transient within their embrace.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z4VfQBDoX6E