written on the morning of the day he later committed hari-kari on, in a stupid and spectacular fashion, about quarter of an hour after midday ?

his grandmother who raised him kept him completely out of the sun as a child

whenever i read this i cry

it was a bright, quiet, garden without striking features.

like a rosary rubbed between the hands, the shrilling of cicadas held sway

there was no other sound. the garden was empty. he had come, thought honda, to a place that had no memories, nothing.

the noontide sun of summer flowed over the still garden.

imo he was quite schizophrenic and had various worsening health/ageing/autistic issues and the convolutions of his suicide where simply a machination to enable him to leave.