" by Marcel Theroux. It was a unimaginably tough story but really intriguing. A barren image of the fields and towns lingered in my mind while I was in the story, but the story has something rich and fertile because of the main character, who is very far from me, "far north" itself.
I forgot but they had already started blooming and giving off a faint good smell.
This time last year I was visiting my mother in the hospital every day and dropping by at a shrine which has japanese plum trees in the small site. They were beautiful so I wanted to break off a branch to bring it to my mother, which I thought was nonsense (and it would be a crime!). Instead I shot the blossom with my camera and iPhone and showed her the images. It seems like a long time ago.