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Early yesterday morning there was the tiniest glint of sunlight on the black plastic of the rice cooker as I circled around it. Last night there was a smiling, waning crescent moon set against a dark sky and the soft purple glow of the bug lamps along the running path. Today the kitchen soap bottle is refracting long green streaks across the countertop. Tomorrow when the moldy zombies emerge from the hospital next door there will also be red and green. The sequence is as follows: yellow, black, white, black, purple, black, green, white, red, green; yet the implications are inscrutable.

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The autumn light at 17:00 JST on the kitchen counter can even transform one hundred Japanese Yen ($1.12 USD) dish soap into the obelisk from Kubrick's 2001, or into filmmaker Yasujirō Ozu's grave marker in Kita-Kamakura, or into what seems like an image from an advertisement in which the tones have been inverted are are waiting to be considered.