An overcast morning, day two or three.
This guy often comes to stake his place and declare his reign over this particular stretch of the river.
Bright orange feet are especially exhilarating at 6 am on a grey morning.
The river at 6 am is hardly a quiet, still place. I at first ventured out feeling quite pleased about making it outside bright and early. That is, until I noticed that on the river, the world had woken up long ago, its currents saying ‘Ohayo Gozaimashta!’ to me, with emphasis on the past tense, as I, taking the river as my back-yard, step out still in my pajamas.
I watch a steady stream of people twice my age jogging energetically this way and that, as I sit and drink tea while stretching (my eyes), and start to feel quite lazy amidst all this motion. I may have to buy a pair of running shoes, and insert a short jog routine before my tea.
But on a rainy morning, at least, the river is quiet, almost abandoned. A lone jogger treads by on higher ground. The silver reflections of a grey sky in the path’s puddles, not captured in this photo, mesmerize me.