Heartbeat

In the heart of the city where people drift by in a haze, the sun has settled into the skyline, which is dampened with obese clouds, and empty pockets of darkness. Bright lights, clean subway stations, walking advertisements, and punctilious transport schedules surround this nature’s hub. Sounds, not yet heard before, as if heard before their time, stray into the nothingness where the ticking of one’s watch amplifies, merges and overlaps, creating an ethereal beat. The backdrop to the park where time is contained is painted with artistic visual and therapeutic symbols of Japan rising from its atomic ashes.

The park itself is bewitching with a luxuriant flora. Children can be seen jumping and skipping in time with the crashing water fountains. People dance freely in colourful styles, and play their drums practicing for festivals. Students can be found fighting with Kendo sticks, friends singing and playing the guitar, people drawing; practicing drama, and doing bike stunts. Lovers embrace while birds chirp, hopping and swaying on the trees’ branches. During April the Sakura bloom and everybody picnics under the bright pink Cherry Blossom trees at day and night. Echoes of picnics caught in the wind can still be heard with closed eyes and meditation.

Smiling with polished and clear skin, no wrinkles, no cosmetics, together they cycle through the park, laughing and joking as the gentle breeze lifts her white cotton skirt and pushes the black strands of her hair into the open air, ebbing and flowing from her tender cheeks. The sun breaks through the clouds with a honey tinted ray flickering like a disco light in between the autumn leaves – marmalade, apple, burgundy, forest green, strawberry, banana, lime, caramel, and mango all falling to the ground.

The feint sound of children playing in the distance, wide and cheeky grins, dirt on their faces – hair rustling and wrapping in the wind. Rolling around in the sandpit the future generations photograph memories in their free play zone. An old jogger passes by, his skin naturally tanned like a freshly made croissant. Sweat dripping down from his glistening face onto his neck creating a small stream leading to a lake. The cicadas have long retreated back into the earth, and laid their eggs, but the songs of other insects still vibrate harmoniously.

The lovers park their bicycles at the dedicated bike-lot, which is already washed in a multicoloured wave of the two peddled vehicles. They sit on a finely crafted auburn wooden bench planted next to a luminous vending machine. These machines are everywhere, like sentinels awaiting its prey. It eats money and consumes electricity like a disease.  The couple look out towards a water fountain trying its best to pierce through the warm layered air. Slowly it begins to climb, its tempo and vitality intensifying, until finally it reaches out. A breeze imprints the ponds surface; its watery hairs stand up and ripple outwards releasing hidden messages. Two trees stand on either side of the main gate, creating a harmonious and urbane dialogue between nature and modern design. Within this busy and crowded urban landscape, there is still a heartbeat for the city generations.