The man was wearing a thick black robe over a rather tattered kosode; it was twilight and the sky was turning dark as well. The sun had nearly set; a few crows cawed in a distance and there was the distinct sound of the shamisen wafting from a komusō on the dusty street.
The man's feet were somewhat blistered and worn out, yet he kept trodding on in his straw sandals. The darkness of the moonless night was engulfing the firmament; the dusty trail looked deserted except for the man and a botefuri dozing off under the eaves of a house with a basket of daikon.
It was early spring; the cold air stung the man's blood-shot eyes. He sighed, gave his straw coat a hitch and ventured ahead on the dusty street bathed in twilight; a faint glow of lamps was visible from the windows of the houses by the edges of the street.
In the distance, the Sumida river was visible, and the Kuroyuki bridge seemed to float over its dark, twilight drenched waters. There were piles of timber floating down the swift current, creating a dissonant counterpoint to the gurgling waters. There was a lone raft on the river, with a single glowing lantern; like a lone firefly in the darkness of a pine tree.
Like the dusty street, the Kuroyuki Bridge was deserted; the black lacquer was peeling off on multiple sites and the floorboards often creaked with a piercing cry. The man however wasn't taking into account any of this; he was walking to a destination, a destination of which he didn't know; sailing through the streets of Edo like a rudderless ship. The deities seemed to have unleashed an eternal curse of suffering and all the man knew was grudge, resentment and emptiness- he knew not where to go; yet he persevered and walked on in his worn-out straw sandals.
He was near the head of a bridge by now; there were innumerable lamp-lit dwellings by the other side of the Sumida river, and they looked like fireflies in the dusk. The twilight soaked sky had grown darker and faint rumbling of the clouds were audible and there was also a woeful chant of a blind beggar playing a biwa nearby.
The man thoughtlessly walked onto the bridge, his wooden clogs striking an unsettling sound. The man wearily trod on. However, when he was midway across the bridge, the heavens roared vehemently- thunder and lightning broke out and pierced the dark, cold air; the wind screeched and gathered up tremendous pace.
The silver strands of lighting teared apart the clouds, and the wind whipped up the dust of the streets of Edo. The storms grew vast, surging as the raging river, the air in tight eddies, its playful vortices unaware of their own strength. The storm was a twirl of yōkai, each dressed in wrathful shades of blue, swaying to the roar of heaven's drum. The man's depressing trance was broken; he looked up at the storm swept sky in horror.
Just then, the skies opened up and a sudden downpour commenced. The sudden shower came as a bewilderment; torrents rained down on Edo. The man, desperate, rolled up his sleeves and ran across the Kuroyuki Bridge, fleeing. Now, perhaps, he knew where to go.
