The world vibrated and sang for a brief time, and there was a sense of building pressure, as when one dives deep underwater.
Music connects memories like a string of fairy lights that comes on when a song flips the switch of spontaneous recollection.
Nothing stays buried forever. No matter how deep in the sand, eventually things emerge. What happens after that, though, is anyone’s guess.
When it rains, they emerge from the ground and hunt.
The same elevator music as ever. The same door chime. The same fluorescent light making everything shadowless and tinged slightly green.
They are often easy to identify, especially those drowning in vegetation. This is particularly true of those engulfed in the same infamous kudzu that is so reviled in the American South. Whole properties disappear under draped green carpets.
Third places are important, but some are disappearing, public baths among them. This is one aspect of Japan’s declining social capital.
Looking forward to the next stages of Somewhere in Japan
Because my cat is my most-requested topic
In relative terms, it’s a cacophony, and it seems so because it has otherwise been so tremendously quiet that minute sounds are magnified.
© 2022 David R Munson, All rights reserved
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