[Miyagi prefecture]

The sea breezes seem to make everything salty, including our faces and bodies. We’re resting on a shady bench under a pine tree, listening to the cicadas drone on.

“We’ve sure had a lot of sunny days this summer,” she says.

In other words, we didn’t get much rain. Since drought can be life-threatening around here, we need to get a healthy amount or we’re in trouble. Of course, prolonged rainy spells can cause problems for us as well.

“I feel like you said the same thing last year,” I tell her.

“Maybe,” she replies.

My little sister slowly pulls herself up and starts to stretch.

“You wanna go over to Kanko Pier?” I ask.

“Good idea. There’s more going on down there. You?”

“I’ll go,” I reply.

The town of Matsushima is full of tourist spots, but my sister and I especially love the area around Kanko Pier. From there, you can see all the islands in Matsushima Bay—from the big ones right in front of you to the tiny specks far off in the distance. It’s beautiful when the water sparkles with reflected sunlight. Plus, it’s a lively place that’s always full of people. You can chat with the old tourist association guys who drive the tour boats around to the islands, and sometimes even get some fish or fish cakes for dinner. My sister’s really good at begging for things. If you watch out for cars and cross the highway, there’s a big temple there called Zuigan-ji, and the path that leads to it takes you along a gorgeous walking trail. And we’ve got friends there, too.

We are at Oshima Island. The view from here is a favorite of mine as well. We decide to move, crossing a red bridge called Togetsukyo.

It’s said that the island of Oshima is what originally gave Matsushima (which means “pine island”) its name. It’s not that big, but it’s full of Buddhist statues, pagodas, and caverns. People think that it was once a religious training site.

Looking back from the middle of the red bridge, the Shinto god Inari catches my eye. I feel a chill run down my spine. I’m not a big fan of dolls or Buddhist statues. Oshima also has Buddha figures carved into some of the rock faces, and they’re a little scary when you see them in dim light. When I ask whether they seem like they’re about to jump out at us, my little sister laughs at me and calls me chicken.

Once we get across the bridge, we start walking along the concrete seawall. The waves make a lapping sound as they wash against the rocks.

“Don’t fall in,” I tell her.

“Yeah, yeah,” she replies.

My sister is peering at something with her face close to the waves. I don’t want her thrusting her hand in there trying to catch a fish, even if they’re there. It’s dangerous.

We pass along a narrow road before the scene opens up before us. We’ve arrived in a wide, grassy park. We get away from the gravel road and walk slowly through the fluffy grass. There’s no reason to hurry. The weather is beautiful today, and everyone’s got their tarps spread out to share a meal with the family or play ball. Chasing after a ball at full speed actually sounds like a lot of fun.

I hear a delightful giggle from behind me and turn around to look. It’s a little kid blowing bubbles. I let my gaze travel past him and see an empty lot piled up with stone and steel, like the guts of a dismantled building.

I just stare at it silently for a moment.

It’s the spot where the aquarium used to be. Our town had an old one. You could even hear the barks coming from the sea lion show when you walked past it. That was when I was much younger, though. It takes me back to think about it.

We climb up the embankment to catch the breeze. The bay is full small cruise boats able to carry just a few passengers each. The thin red bridge we can see beyond the boats is Fukuura-bashi, which takes you to Fukuura Island. If we head over there and look back at this point, we’ll be greeted with yet another view.

“Hi ojisan,” my sister says.

It’s one of the tourist association guys wearing his uniform and cap. He’s been especially kind to my sister and me over the years.

“Oh, hey there. Back again today, I see,” he says.

He’s carrying a big container and trying to maneuver it without getting in anybody’s way. A little black and white cat is wandering around his feet. Two more, a brown one and one with a white nose, appear out of nowhere.

“Matsumoto-san, you’re spoiling those stray cats rotten,” a voice calls out.

It’s the woman from the tourist boat office. She’s a stout, big-bosomed lady with a kind heart. She’s given us dried sardines before. They were so fragrant and delicious. I’d love to eat them again.

“We can’t let the poor things starve,” he replies. “We’ve got to beef them up.”

“They’re definitely attached to you. It’s adorable. You lost some in the tsunami too, right?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “There were a couple black ones that seemed like littermates, but I haven’t seen them once since the disaster. They probably got washed away…”

The man fidgets with his hat a bit and looked out at the sea.

But we’re still here. I go to his side. Ojisan—we’re here, we came to see you. Me and my sister. But I knew that I could shout it and he still wouldn’t hear.

I don’t know how many years ago it was now. I stopped counting the days.

It was cold when it came. We heard rumbling and the ground started to shake badly. The ocean, always sparkling with its dazzling beauty, cried out in furious howls as it closed in on us.

My sister and I couldn’t escape the enormous wave.

When we came to, we found ourselves looking down on mud-covered roads and crumbled buildings from overhead. Then I realized that even if we called out to ojisan as he cleaned up the debris, he’d never hear us.

In the spring, the pines return with a thick coat of bright green needles. I know a wonderful place to admire the cherry blossoms too. It’s perfect for basking in the sun.

The sky seems higher up in the summer, and fireworks would rise into the air when night falls. It was really beautiful. Lots of people would come to visit, and the place would come to life. These days, though, you don’t see that anymore. There are no more fireworks blooming in the night sky.

In autumn, we used to play in the colorful falling leaves. I remember how it hurt to touch the spikey chestnuts.

In winter, the islands are beautiful in their blankets of snow, which makes a hushed sound as it drops into the sea. I used to love listening it fall.

Several cats gather around ojisan and the woman, eating up the dried sardines and cat food. My sister and I don’t get hungry these days. But we do remember tastes and smells. Food looks good to us. When I stare hard, I can see my sister calling me, the ocean breeze stirring the whiskers on my face.

“The boats are coming in,” my sister says to me.

“Looks like the seagulls are following them,” I reply.

The sparkling ocean, the big boats. The seagulls cutting gracefully through the air. Everything is so dazzlingly beautiful.

“It’s so pretty,” I marvel. “I could stay here looking at it forever.”

Why, I wonder. Why is it so hard to pull ourselves away? We’re here, looking on. On what our town used to be and what it is today. And we will always be here, forever.