shashasha

No longer serviced by the ferries, the comings and goings of people will cease. But even as the islands are forgotten, the evocations of those who were once there will surely endure. At the seaside ablaze with flowers in bloom, children play in circles and lovers hold hands, whispering to one another. The sailor of a sunken ship despairs, while a wounded soldier wanders the beach crying out his mother’s name, uniform flapping in the breeze. I too will continue to tell these stories. Cocking an ear to the breath of history, I will continue to spin forth these images.

• from Yasuhiro Ogawa, ‘Shimagatari’