The call with Bao
On the weeks I cannot take the ferry, this is the call. Bao stays with the people I left him with on Kusu. He is not quick, and the call is not quick either.
Stories
Journal
Turning the pages
Where she goes
Romeo's grandmother goes out to the farm often. The watermelon rows run toward the trees. He does not go with her. He stays in the house.
The track home
The light goes down on the track, and the farm is about to be left for another day. Romeo is still at the house, waiting.
Everyone in the Petter house
Charlie is my dog. I bought him when the UK work stayed, and the Petter family is who he lives with. Everyone in that house loves him. I come back two or three times a year. The months between, he is on the video call.
Already in someone's arms
This is the house I come back to. He is usually already being held before I have my coat off.
Home alone
Most days it is just Romeo. I left him with his grandmother, and she is at the farm, so the house stays quiet until she comes back. On her birthday I celebrated with him the only way I could, online, through the webcam. That call is how I keep him.
When he was small
An early picture of Romeo. He was small, and someone had tied a ribbon on him. The house was not empty then.
Still on the vine
One melon in the row, still attached. This is the work she leaves him for.
Bao in the grass
Bao is mine. I left him with people on Kusu, and this is him in the grass, working at the stems among the small white flowers. He is not quick. On the weeks I cannot take the ferry, this is what the video call looks like.
Greens on the stone
They gather on the stone when the greens are put out. Bao is the one from the grass. The water dish sits below them, and the leaves go first.
Sunset over the hill town
Massa Marittima goes gold in the late light. Olive and Terra are mine, kept by someone on the slope below the walls. Hermann's tortoises belong to country like this, dry grass and stone and a long view. When I am not in Tuscany, I still call.
Another year on the path
Kyoto is a trip, not the house. I have been coming back for years. On this one I brought Miso and Sora to the Philosopher's Path while the city was still quiet. The canal was the whole morning. Miso stopped at his usual bend. Sora did not. Then we went home to the Philippines.
The north beach, then the sanctuary
The ferry from Marina South Pier lands you on a small beach. Kusu means tortoise. Bao stays with the people I left him with. I walked up and sat with him until the return boat.
Cats in the republican ruins
Largo di Torre Argentina is a crossroads with a sanctuary in the middle. Livia, Nero, and Pia live down among the temples. I looked from the railing and did not try to call them up.
The Shinano beside the koi hall
Nishikigoi were bred in this country from black carp at the start of the nineteenth century. The river was high. Inside the hall, Kohaku, Taisho, Showa, and Asagi were easy to see.
The torii in the lake
Shirahige's gate stands in the water. I came for Nami, the gengoro-buna, and for Sasa's season. Ayu do not wait. The lake does.
Forty minutes to Cat Island
The Ajishima Line leaves Ishinomaki and takes about forty minutes. I got off at Nitoda. Shima was on the path, Sumi near the port, Hana farther up toward the shrine. Miso and Sora stayed home in the Philippines. Dogs are not part of this island.
Under the Eiger
Bruno and Alma are mine. I left them with people in the village when the team stayed. The rock face was in cloud until noon, then cleared. A Bernese does not seem to notice either way.
Hachiko's mountain
Hachiko was born in Ōshinai, Ōdate, in November 1923, and sent to Tokyo the next January. Yuki and Kuma are my Akitas, kept by someone in that town. Mount Kurakake was white at the edges. I spent the day with them, then went home to Miso in the Philippines.