Sunday, August 7
Often times, I imagine being carried by a hot air balloon, alighting at any place the imagination can fabricate. I'd usually choose a quaint, little Japanese neighborhood with roughly a few dozen houses, and where an old izakaya defines the nightlife, or an old local train station concludes the very heart beat of the whole town. There is always a backstory in my head, mostly romantic in nature, typifying the beautiful complexities of a rustic Japanese life, where years are measured by how saltier the sea breeze becomes each passing summer.
I am sure the little towns along the coastline of Miyage would have been the perfect airports of my hot air balloon. Seeing how these towns were washed out to ruins just make me realize that some place remains beautiful even if they were completely scathed to utter mess.
Opus from Haruka Nakamura's Arne