"Aika loved rain"

Ama’s little hands make a shape of a telescope. She stands on the gravel of the zen rock garden and gazes at the grey sky, heavy with thick, rainy clouds. They almost seem to reach out to little girl’s head filtering in her consciousness with their expanding massiveness.

“It’s surly going to rain, Ama-chan” Miko-san says. A graceful nod suggests, little girl shouldn’t walk away far from home. Today, grandma didn't dress her hair. It tumbles on her strong shoulders as if happy ink, fluid silk released from the ink-bottle. Ama tiptoes trying to immerse her hands in Miko’s hair. Grandma kneels down to make it easier for her. The undertones of memories are visible in Miko’s smile: “Aika loved rain,” she adds. Ama hopes that she can talk her grandma into some stories about her mother.

"Why, grandma? When it rains, no play outdoors."

"Certainly, you need to find out more about the magic of the rain, Ama-chan."