Some photographs I took during a walk to Kujukuri-hama (Ninety-nine Leagues Beach) from my home. What you see is the beach during off-season. In summer it resembles a seriously peopled garbage dump. Until the walk I hadn’t realized just how close the ocean is. It explains why the climate around here never gets really cold or hot like Tokyo two and half hours away by train.
Reed warblers sing their clicking songs amidst these rushes.
I never saw the horses, but it was a surprise since there is so little room for horses to manuever in Japan.
In an effort to evoke the spirit of California and Hawai’i the beach is lined with windblown palm trees.
The wind began to blow stronger when I arrived.
The sand tells stories of all who pass…
…and has a way of hushing conversation.
You can walk for hours thinking of nothing, and letting the waves wash in and out of your consciousness.
It is hard to deny that the ocean is alive and as moody as any singer or storyteller.
There are those who seek out the edge of the sea to ask its advice, so often at the beginning or end of things.
The answers are often harsh, but they never relinquish the beauty of each encounter.
When the storm came I retreated to a restaurant and listened to the wind outside buffeting the windows. The beer and pizza gilded the beginning of forgetfulness.
I just managed to escape the downpour at my apartment door. The wind blew and blew all night long.