I am reading Haruki Murakami, a Japanese novelist.

It is 19:56, July, 29, in Japan.

Murakami writes in his book, "Sheep,"

---------------------------------------------------------------

06:30am, July, 24. It is an ideal season and an ideal time to see the sea. Beach is not yet made dirty by anyone. On the sea edge, there are footmarks of seabirds like very small pine-leaves fallen by wind.

Sea...is it?

I stated waking, again. I will forget "sea" for good. Such a thing was gone away, far long ago.

(translated by myself)

----------------------------------------------------------------------------