Hizashi - No Naka

When the light finally moved again, slipping toward the corner, the tea was gone.

At two o’clock, it entered through the east window, touching the rim of her tea bowl. At three, it stretched across the kotatsu, warming the worn fabric where her fingers rested. At four, it climbed the wall, illuminating a crack in the plaster that she had grown fond of — a river of time she traced with her eyes. hizashi no naka

It hung in the middle of the room, suspended, as if the earth had stopped spinning for a breath. Inside that gold, dust motes floated like tiny stars. And for a moment — just a moment — she saw her husband’s silhouette. Not as a ghost. Not as a memory. But as a shape within the light itself, sitting across from her, hands cupped around an invisible cup. When the light finally moved again, slipping toward