......................................................................................................................................................................................................................
  An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone.     In the morning   Ishinomaki   stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.   Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.  The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone. 

In the morning Ishinomaki stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.

Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.

The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

  An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone.     In the morning   Ishinomaki   stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.   Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.  The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone. 

In the morning Ishinomaki stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.

Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.

The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

  An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone.     In the morning   Ishinomaki   stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.   Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.  The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone. 

In the morning Ishinomaki stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.

Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.

The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

  An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone.     In the morning   Ishinomaki   stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.   Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.  The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone. 

In the morning Ishinomaki stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.

Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.

The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

  An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone.     In the morning   Ishinomaki   stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.   Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.  The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone. 

In the morning Ishinomaki stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.

Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.

The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

  An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone.     In the morning   Ishinomaki   stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.   Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.  The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone. 

In the morning Ishinomaki stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.

Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.

The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

  An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone.     In the morning   Ishinomaki   stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.   Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.  The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone. 

In the morning Ishinomaki stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.

Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.

The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

  An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone.     In the morning   Ishinomaki   stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.   Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.  The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone. 

In the morning Ishinomaki stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.

Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.

The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

  An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone.     In the morning   Ishinomaki   stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.   Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.  The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone. 

In the morning Ishinomaki stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.

Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.

The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone. 

In the morning Ishinomaki stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.

Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.

The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone. 

In the morning Ishinomaki stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.

Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.

The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone. 

In the morning Ishinomaki stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.

Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.

The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone. 

In the morning Ishinomaki stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.

Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.

The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone. 

In the morning Ishinomaki stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.

Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.

The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone. 

In the morning Ishinomaki stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.

Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.

The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone. 

In the morning Ishinomaki stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.

Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.

The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone. 

In the morning Ishinomaki stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.

Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.

The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone. 

In the morning Ishinomaki stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.

Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.

The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  

  An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone.     In the morning   Ishinomaki   stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.   Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.  The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  
  An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone.     In the morning   Ishinomaki   stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.   Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.  The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  
  An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone.     In the morning   Ishinomaki   stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.   Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.  The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  
  An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone.     In the morning   Ishinomaki   stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.   Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.  The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  
  An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone.     In the morning   Ishinomaki   stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.   Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.  The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  
  An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone.     In the morning   Ishinomaki   stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.   Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.  The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  
  An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone.     In the morning   Ishinomaki   stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.   Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.  The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  
  An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone.     In the morning   Ishinomaki   stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.   Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.  The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.  
  An entire infrastructure ruined. Cut off rail lines restricting route to Ishinomaki devastated by the tsunami. Sendai seemed moderately safe; calm but stagnant. The bus journey chugged its way along the now steady coast route, through town and village towards Ishinomaki itself. Remains of debris conjoined violently with the skeleton buildings dotted sporadically in the distance. The sky grey masking the sun but the most magnificent trees clung to the coastal rocks swaying in the aftermath of that day's storm. Full bloom foliage absorbed the damp willingly, safe high up on the rocky hill face full of energy like the others that disappeared behind the sinking fog. A landscape snaking the horizon; nose pressed against the window with my eye in line with its abstraction now blurred as the rain beat down. An interlude of temporary street lighting glowed from the starkness, such very few lights as the inhabitants now gone.     In the morning   Ishinomaki   stood in a blistering orange sunlight. Quietly classes went to school and the slow rhythm of traffic played in accordance with the musical light signals. The high pitched jingle not compatible with its surroundings.  I was in the built up section that survived the peril of the wave. A market store survived and the rebuilding had commenced to such a fast pace it would almost seem as if nothing happened. Then a bend around the corner it was visible to see the constructed block system that once existed has no rhyme or reason any more. Now buildings scattered irrationally and no longer attached. The ones that survived were semi crumbled and the street leading to the end led out to an expanse of wasteland. You could see the markings left behind from the water stained on the side of buildings as a malicious reminder. The remarkable strength of a single floor tile and post that held its ground undamaged, ominously set up like an installation alone; minute flowering weeds growing through the cracks. Like a desert now, at the end of the street nothing but its vast swathe of land and tiny figures drifted despondently alone in its distance.   Like a dream it seemed, I advanced out into the abyss of ruin slowly and cautiously. The figures like a mirage forming in the heat, the crunch of my sandals the only noise combined with the whistling breeze. Belongings to the deceased laid occasionally scattered and untouched. A teddy laid face down in the dirt with an anime companion slumped dramatically aside full of animation. Did that child survive? Does this teddy need to be buried for my closure and respect? I dared not to touch as I realized the surrounding area was full of them. It was sad and the silence defended. I continued to walk way into the distance coming across pre and post tsunami artefacts left in my wake. The tiny piles of carefully stacked stones and then the colourful ribbons tied around small thriving shrubs as man's way of commiserating loss. To the precarious displacement of remains left by the tsunami crudely dried now just meters from these sorrowful man made memorials. As beautiful as nature is this vision served as a reminder of its ultimate power.  The lone figure hunched over, slowly but quietly digging shallow holes in the ground for the sunflower seedlings. The path of earth charred like its surroundings, dry and hard but the sunflowers took. Hesitant to cause offence I stood back and watched his meticulous action, a few seeds per hole before he looked up and smiled. We both then stood and admired his work in silence; for his children he said quietly defiant. He then gave me a crumpled piece of paper and asked me to write my name on it. He then folded its edges with precision and crafted a small origami crane bird, gave it to me and told me I had to make a wish. Overwhelmed by my emotions his stolidness strong, we bowed heads.I made my way further into the expanse of emptiness holding the crane bird in my hand.