The Decay of the Angel - Yukio Mishima

15
TŌRU WAS off duty the next day. He spent the
day at a movie and watching the ships in the harbor.
He was on duty from nine the next morning.
After a number of typhoons, the late-summer sky for
the first time displayed summery clouds. He was
more attentive than usual to the clouds, thinking that
this would be his last summer at the station.
The sky that evening was beautiful. Lines of cloud
hovered over the ocean like the god of storms
himself.
But the grand, orange-tinted forest of clouds was
decapitated by yet another layer of clouds. Here and
there the powerful muscles of the storm clouds were
flushed over with shyness, and the blue sky behind
poured over them in an avalanche of high azure. This
layer was dark, that shone like a bright bow.
It was the nearest and highest layer of clouds. In
exaggerated perspective, the layers that trailed off
behind seemed to descend in steps beyond the clear
sky. Perhaps, thought Tōru, it was a fraud perpetrated
by the clouds. Perhaps the clouds, making a show of
perspective, were deceiving him.