The zapping racket of cicadas rising and falling, undulating in and out of sync wakes me up soon after sunrise. Although it's not yet 7 a.m., the thick, steamy heat pours in through the open window in waves, and seems fused into one substance with the yazz and clatter of the insects.
After gazing out the window at the shades of green in the valley and listening to the river far below chortling intermittently, I head down the steep staircase to join my hosts Koichi Yamashita and family for breakfast.
I am a guest at their small house at the end of a mountain road in remote southern Shikoku. Naturally, there is no air conditioner, and, as all our ancestors did for centuries, we adapt to the heat, and do not map out any particularly ambitious activities for the day. I am again reminded that environmentalism is often a matter of being at peace with not trying to accomplish too much.