Dispatch № 54: Resident Alien
When it rains, they emerge from the ground and hunt.
Dispatch № 43: The Summer Trope
It is a season for the seaside and the mountain stream. A season for eating ice pops while walking over the blistering asphalt of country roads fringed with green foxtail, the green of which has begun to fade to brown.
Dispatch № 28: The Mountains and The Sea
If you grew up near the ocean, you likely take its presence for granted, in a way that you wouldn’t if you grew up far inland, where its existence seemed more academic.
Dispatch № 26: Cultivated Disorder
A peaceful setting, but something feels strange. If I pay attention to ambient noises, what I hear most are the small sounds of the water, the wind rustling the tall grasses to my left, and a violent, gasoline-fuelled roar at a moderate distance.
Dispatch № 21: Windblown
Air is only visible to us through its interactions with the world. We all know the sound of the wind in the trees and the gentle swaying of branches. We see ripples on ponds and watch autumn leaves swirling on blustery days.
Dispatch № 14: In the Mist
Normally, this road would be busy with weekend visitors, but today it feels as if we have the mountain nearly to ourselves. For this, I can thank the weather.
Dispatch № 12: Hearing Earthquakes
It’s like an impossibly large machine has just switched on, far enough away that the actual noise of it is gone, but the low rumble of its vibrations carry through the ground and into your body.
Dispatch № 8: A Surprisingly Deep Bowl
How many organisms does it take to make a bowl of soup? If it’s miso soup, the answer is usually around nine. Surprised?