natsu vs. summer

A selection of past posts to celebrate ten years of Only A Blockhead.

Summer is on the wane. Discarded cicada shells, brown and brittle, stud the outside walls of the house. When the sun burns down, the buzz of cicadas cascades from the tree tops, filling the valley with sound. All the species have emerged now to join the frenzied cacophony.

The wispy heads of the rice plants are filling out and beginning to droop. Nights are a degree or two cooler. Bitter green fruit appears on the persimmon tree. The farmers' vegetable stands feature nutty, sweet pumpkins and glossy eggplants, more black than purple. The first spiders of fall sit in the center of webs woven under the eaves and between branches.

(2008)

The day vibrates

Hot with cicadas

Dragonflies skim the ripening rice

(2013)

And as the season ends, a meditation on natsu from 2012.

Levi Stahl, in the annex to his reading blog, recently quoted Henry James: Summer afternoon—summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.

James lived in Rye, England. Writing at the turn of the last century, it was a little early for him to hear the drowsy sound of a distant lawnmower engine. But there was the sunshine, and heat enough for perspiration when, for example, picking early apples in the orchard. There was the taste of those apples, and the fragrance of roses in bloom; the thwack of a cricket bat on the village green; laughter from those taking afternoon tea on the lawn, perhaps in newfangled canvas deckchairs. And the sun still high at 6pm: gin and tonics, followed by a light supper outdoors. Glorious afternoons of seemingly endless peace.

In Japan, natsu (summer) has its own images and resonance. Blue, pink, purple morning glories growing towards the sun. Jugs of frosty barley tea; the curl of smoke and the incense-like odor of a mosquito coil. Hornets building nests; the sheen of spider’s webs in the sunshine. Cold noodles; warm boiled soybeans, their green pods coated in salt. Heat and humidity too extreme for much exercise.

The natsu afternoon doesn’t stand separate: the cicada begins its strident buzzing at first light, continuing as the sun climbs and the heat builds to a blinding extreme in late morning, and on relentless to sundown and darkness. Cicadas are the sound of summer. That and the penk of metal bat connecting with baseball.  In the hottest days of August, the high school baseball tournament unfolds at venerable Koshien Stadium in Kobe, and the rest of Japan follows its two-week course on radio or television. Four games a day, played with dispatch and impeccable sportsmanship beginning in the low sun of early morning, through high noon and ending with a deep shadow across half the field. High school baseball is a microcosm of all that Japan believes about itself. It is a show of unity, selflessness, determination, endurance and giving one’s absolute all, demonstrated by youth in its aching, fleeting beauty. Vicariously, we share the experience of the lucky few who make it to this summit. The thrill of victory and the tears of defeat will fade but we’ll always remember the time as the best of our lives.

--Julian

Comments

[Ted t]

Wow! Nice one Julian.

[Julian]

Thanks! I always enjoy your accounts of walks and all else at http://notesfromthenog.blogspot.jp
so your comment means a lot!