In Sweden, where I studied several years ago, there was a unique view of life and death: “The dead go back to the forest.” When my grandparents died in succession last summer, I sent them off with flowers at their funerals, and when I went to the house where no one lived anymore, I found plants growing thickly in the yard. When I visited this town, I found ivy growing thickly with roots in an empty building, and I remembered those words for the first time in a long time. Like a plant that exists with the passing of the seasons, the scenery sprouts from the piles of old clothes worn by the people of Nakanojo Town. I pray that the passage of time, which flows in the life of any land, will become a peaceful memory.