Lone juniperus chinensis along the Ise Kaidō in roadside park, typical of many so-called “parks” along the way, uninspired, jejune: dirt with scrabble of weeds baked dry by blazing sun, little shade, open space evocative of stickball or rolling an iron barrel hoop or maybe poo tag, if children in Japan played poo tag (which, surprisingly, I have yet to hear about, though it seems so universally fundamental and obvious to the mind of a child — to place poo on the end of a stick and run after one another), heavy tiled roof in the background framing our flaming juniper, I love these flame-sculpted trees, seeing them always reminds me of the entrance to Kamakura’s Hachimangū shrine, where one sits, like the hair of Gouki (Akuma) from Street Fighter, and in the foreground (returning to our photo), a row of seats looking like they were lifted from Tokyo Dome, multicolored, discolored, facing the beloved juniperus, on the edge of shadow; perhaps a good lunch spot, slate-grey skies above, rain soon to arrive.