Cicadas drone, and there is the distant splishing of water where the bamboo fountain perpetually empties itself. Junji stands still, but nothing can stay the steady growth of the sweat circles under his armpits. It is too hot, and sickeningly humid.
The upper stories of the Golden Pavilion glow in the morning sunshine like, well, gold, and the pond glistens silver. It’s a perfect reproduction - except for the stupid fountain, and the stupid deer that watches him (stupidly) from the tiny island.
Deer belong here more than that ugly fountain - it wasn’t called Rokoun-ji as well as Kinkaku-ji for nothing, after all - but this deer stands on its hind legs, and is dressed in the battle armor of a samurai. The blue-on-white bamboo leaves and gentian flowers of the sasa-rindō mon on the flag rising from the buck’s back mark it as a member of the Minamoto clan. Who, obviously, were out of the picture centuries before the Pavilion was even converted into a temple.