(July 10, 2015) The growled opera of a hundred chanting monks stilled our walk. In the exhausted rain of an overstretched typhoon. Us perched high on the fortified city wall that kept so many heathens in their proper neighborhood. The shadowed monastery snuggled it’s lower bulwark. Surrounded by trees in whose branches locals hid from the swordsman of the Imperial Japanese army. 300,000 of their brethren lost that particular game of hide and seek. We strained for sight of shaved heads. Echoes of prayers climbed from the monastery. Our wall breathed the chants in return. For how many centuries had these lovers whispered back and forth? We voyuered on, content in the wet.