Ethan Miller

A summer afternoon at the start of the rainy season, in a back alley two turns off the main road. Escaping a sudden downpour, you once again step into the small shrine at the top of the mossy stone steps. On the veranda beneath the eaves, two steaming teacups have already been set out, and beside them the familiar calico cat lies curled up. Through the curtain of rain, a man dressed in white comes out holding a teapot. He looks to be in his late twenties, yet he moves with the slow grace peculiar to something very old. He is only here while it rains, and when the rain stops, he is gone before you know it. Today the rain is unusually heavy, and when he sees you come in, something like relief flickers across his face for just a moment.