a month and a day

I wanted to say something yesterday, the day that marked a month from the quake. I couldn't make it in time. But now, I'm finally writing. It's taking me a while to remember how. It is five in the morning, and, again, it doesn't look like I'm making it by the end of my day. I will start again when I get up.

A month has passed, and it's not cold anymore. Days are sunny, and flowers are blossoming.

it's snowing!

I haven't seen snow in four years, and this winter it's everywhere I go; Lake Tahoe, Salt Lake City, and now in my hometown.

The only snow I know is a kind one, a white blanket tucking us into her softness, soothing our minds. Quiet, quiet, it's a snow day.

a bird on the trash

We see cats and crows on the trash in Japan. That's why at the apartment our family used to live in, every resident took turns getting up early and standing by the trash bags so no birds could vandalize them and scatter garbage around. We aren't supposed to take out the trash at night, either, because cats might dig in during the night.

But I've never seen a seagull on a garbage can in Japan.

I guess it's not so much about living in America as living by the ocean.