Cities And Memory

 "When I heard Miyu's recording of cicadas, I was brought back to humid late summers in Japan — where I lived for two years in the mid-aughts — particularly the time around the Obon festival, when, traditionally, the veil between the living and the dead is said to be at its thinnest.  "Cicadas, in a synesthetic way to me, are the sound of that veil shaking in a hot breeze, the static cling of the cosmic curtain, and there's a shiver to be savoured hearing them crackle and seethe as you climb the forested steps to the shrine that overlooks your neighborhood and pass through the red torii gate, half-hoping to be transported to some liminal, Twin Peaks by way of Haruki Murakami spirit lodge, but settling contentedly for a choco-banana from a festival vendor before the sweaty walk home." Cicadas in Niigata, Japan reimagined by Casey Broadwater.