One day, perhaps in the spring or summer, I will have to take my bike and a photo taking device of some kind and take photos to show what I am about to describe because I don’t think that words can truly do justice.
I make no claim that I live in a rich par tot Japan, i fact I live in quite a poor part. There is basically nothing here to bring people here and fewer and fewer things to keep those who grow up here, here. There are all kinds of forgotten memories here, literal and figurative pathways across the mountains, great stretches of land where nothing has likely changed in fifty years or more.
Twice a week on my way to one of my workplaces I see the most memorable, thus far at least, of these places. If truth be told there is perhaps nothing more significant about these places than the fact that I see them so regularly and they are always fresh in my mind. Yet there they are, day after day, year after year not doing anything more than simply decaying, eroding. Falling apart to the steady demands of entropy and time.
There are entire neighbourhoods that look as though they are still stuck in the wars of the 1940s and for many older folk here, those wars have never ended.
More sorrowfully however, there is another war that still rages on.