So restless. I have to do something. Into the car. I hit the end of a road. Here we walk. I sweat. I smell the warm bark. I hit the ridge.
I push a bit farther and the forest rumbles. The branches start cracking. My body freezes up. A wild pig is dashing away. Is my stick in hand any good? My blood felt great. Nothing but endless green hills. The miniscule hamlets here and there.
I wondered why that area looked strange passing by the first time. There was an old tree.
I've got a bad habit of finding shrines. Maybe they find me.
Why did the air smell of thick laundry soap?
Shrines are peaceful and full of nothing. The last reminders and safe havens for nature in a land of concrete.
The sun graced my skin and kissed my lips. Who would have thought? The rice also made me blind.