A small street in a corner of the American Village. In the stillness of the street, as if time has stopped, you suddenly stop and feel a nostalgic and strange premonition. A small potted plant, an old sign, a bench on which someone has sat--everything is waiting to tell a story. à American Village.

It was a morning unaware of the hustle and bustle of Saturday night. Koza Gate Street was quiet as if in another world. Graffiti lingered in the alleyways, random mannequins, leaves with raindrops. Overhead, a rainbow encircled the sky. Okinawa sometimes leaves a very subtle hint amidst the gaudy colors: L'arc-en-ciel parle dans le silenceUn dimanche matin calme à Koza