One teacher, a young woman, sees you standing in the sandpile and shrieks something in Japanese. Muttering with exasperation, the teachers drop their spades and begin to trudge in the direction of the shelter. The girl looks at you expectantly and tries to pull you towards the shelter. There's no mistaking the drone of aircraft. You've noticed a faint sound coming from somewhere overhead. The girl can't keep her eyes off the umbrella. The girl is a cute four or five years old. You watch her expression soften from fear to curiosity. Suddenly, the umbrella in your hand catches her eye. Her eyes dart back and forth between you and the teachers you can see a cry forming on her lips. Then she sees you.Īt first, you're sure she's going to scream. She trips and sprawls across the sand, laughing with hysterical glee. Turning south, you see a group of adults (schoolteachers, by the looks of them), wearily digging another shelter like the first.Ī little girl races between the swings, hot on the trail of a dragonfly. Several small children are happily chasing dragonflies north of the swing set. Mounds of dirt are heaped around a dark opening to the east. Behind them stands a long building, its windows hung with flowers and birds folded from colored paper. A set of children's swings moves slowly back and forth in the humid breeze.
