It was only a short trip but in those brief hours I felt a tingle of joy, similar to what I felt a few years ago when I used to walk the streets randomly, taking portraits of strangers and quirky intriguing scenes.
With the backpack packed and batteries charged, chocolate and sugary snacks purchased, I headed to the Torikura trail entrance (鳥倉登山口) late on Saturday afternoon to start the 2 to 3 hour climb to the campsite.
After I’d finished I sat waiting a couple of kilometres from where the festival was about to start at a michi-no-eki and I wondered why I hadn’t just jumped in the car with everyone else.
This is more of a note to myself than anything else. A reminder that the mountains are still there.
OK, I get it. Raising kids is hard. Harder than I thought. Much harder. Throw in work, the rainy season,
I need to make boxes and boxes of prints like we did before digital came along and banished everything to zeros and ones. Remember flicking through real family albums for more than a zillionth of a second?