by Leslie A. Ito
November 20, 2015
Meandering through Kanazawa City,
the color palette of late September is endless shades of green.
Every where I walk I hear water.
Sometimes just a trickle, bubbling over a slight decline of pebbles.
Other times, an over exuberant rush as I cross over small concrete bridges between the street and small businesses.
More soothing, more natural than the manufactured zen waterfalls from Home Depot.
The resonance of the flow makes me realize just how scarcity has taken its toll.
Back home, living in a metropolitan desert further exacerbated by global warming.
A constant reminder as we wash dishes, take showers, flush toilets.
In the James Irvine Japanese Garden, yellow hues on the verge of brown, losing its connection.
How must culture adapt to nature? How must nature adapt to environment?
My own family history forced to the desert, Poston and Gila.
Barron landscapes imprinted on our families, our culture, our memories.
A hundred shades of dust contrasting the lush landscape of farmlands in Kyushu.
That alone must have taken a toll.
As I conclude my day, I fill the deep bathtub and sink my body into the guiltless abundance of water.
Every muscle remembers, every muscle breathes relief.