A Rainy Sunday — The New Umbrella and Rain Boots
日本語版はこちら →雨の日曜日。 あたらしい かさと、 あたらしい ながぐつ
A Rainy Sunday — The New Umbrella and Rain Boots
The Little Teru Teru Bozu
"Memories of Human Forms" Series
Listen first. Then read.
The memories I let settle into the music, I trace here a little more deeply in words.
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Introduction
In Japan, children sometimes make a small handmade doll called a teru teru bozu and hang it by the window, wishing for good weather.
This is a quiet rainy-day story about one such little figure, watching over a family's quiet moments.
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The Story
A rainy Sunday.
Papa and Mama were each spending the day at their own pace inside the house.
Raindrops tapped lightly against the windows.
On top of the shoe cabinet by the front door, a paper teru teru bozu — one the child had made at preschool — sat perched, just so.
Then a loud little voice came from the entrance.
"Umbrellaaa!"
"Rain bootsss!"
The child clearly wanted the new umbrella and rain boots brought out.
Papa and Mama pretended not to hear.
After a little while, the voice came again.
"Um-brellaaa!"
"Rain boo-ootsss!"
Papa said,
"Mama, you take this one, won't you."
Mama said,
"Let's save them for tomorrow — for preschool, all right?"
At that, the child said, in a voice on the edge of tears,
"Umbrellaaa…"
"Rain bootsss…"
Mama gave a small laugh and took out the new umbrella and rain boots.
A yellow umbrella, bright as a sunflower,
and rain boots so glossy they looked like banana-flavored jelly beans.
"Papa, you go along with them, won't you."
"Why don't you go, Mama?"
Mama glanced at her bare, un-made-up face in the mirror and said,
"It takes me a while to get ready. You can head straight out, can't you?"
Then, with a little smile, she went on,
"All right then — I'll go. So have the bathtub cleaned by the time we get home, okay?"
Papa made a slightly troubled face, then laughed and got to his feet.
"Well — can't be helped, can it."
The child pulled on the shiny rain boots
and dashed out the door, beaming.
Along the rainy street, the child padded on in small steps.
Finding a puddle, the child would stop;
spinning the umbrella round and round, laughing.
Papa followed quietly behind,
like a butler.
Mama briskly finished cleaning the bath
and, in the empty room, savored a brief moment of quiet.
After a while, the entrance grew lively again.
Papa and the child were both a little wet.
They seemed to have had a wonderful time.
That was just right, Mama thought.
On top of the shoe cabinet by the door,
the paper teru teru bozu
sat perched just as before,
quietly watching over the family.
▼Read more Teru Teru Bōzu stories here
About this story
I found myself remembering a day when a child came home from preschool.
New rain boots had arrived, and though there was nowhere to go, the child wore them happily around the room — glossy, shiny, and entirely their own.
That is what it means, I think, for something to feel truly your own for the first time. We forget it once we are grown, but for a child it is something special — a small, momentous event.
This story was born from that memory.
I gave this teru teru bozu no heavy prayers to carry. It only sat on the shoe cabinet by the door, watching over the family. That alone is enough, I felt, as I wrote.
Some figures come with the season and quietly slip away when it passes. There are little human-shaped beings like that, too.
For a rainy day spent with a small child,
and for a grown-up's quiet moment of letting their shoulders drop, remembering the rainy days of their own childhood —
I would be glad if this music could sit gently beside you.
May this rainy Sunday come to rest over someone's own dear, remembered day.
About the Series: Hitogata no Kioku — Memories of Human Forms
The quiet memories of beings shaped in human form.
Automata, bisque dolls, katashiro — and a small teru teru bozu.
Each form holds an untold story, traced through music and image.
Listen and read the story together — YouTube channel here
