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This is an old poem that almost every schoolchild knows. Poet Kenji Miyazawa lived in Iwate Prefecture, which took much damage from the earthquake and tsunami.

Unbeaten by rain
Unbeaten by wind
Unbowed by the snow and the summer heat
Strong in body

Free from greed
Without any anger
Always serene

With a handful of brown rice a day
Miso and a small amount of vegetables suffice

Whatever happens
Consider yourself last, always put others first
Understand from your observation and experience
Never lose sight of these things

In the shadows of the pine groves in the fields
Live modestly under a thatched roof

In the East, if there is a sick child
Go there and take care of him
In the West, if there is an exhausted mother
Go there and relieve her of her burden
In the South, if there is a man near death
Go there and comfort him, tell him “Don’t be afraid”
In the North, if there is an argument and a legal dispute
Go there and persuade them it’s not worth it

In a drought, shed tears
In a cold summer, carry on
Even with a sense of loss

Being called a fool
Being neither praised nor a burden

Such a person I want to be

(Translated by Catherine Iwata, Rev.Fredrich Ulrich, Sophie Sampson, Helene Bartos, Minaeri Park, Mokmi Park, Yasuko Akiyama)
March 27, 2011

From far away these firemen looked like little specks when I first saw them in the village of Osawa in Kessennuma, Miyagi Prefecture. At the distance they looked like pallbearers carrying a large wooden box.

Up closer I wondered if they were Americans, because “USS Premble” was written on the backs of their jackets. It was the only article they had in common — none of their boots, gloves or helmets matched, although they belonged to the same brigade.

“The tsunami washed all their uniforms away,” explained their captain, who actually wore a complete uniform himself. His rubber boots had his name on them. The jackets came from an American rescue party that passed by. “There are 18 of us and we all made it. We’ve been working every day since, but none of them have homes to go to anymore.”

They deposited the box to the side of temple. It turned out to be the container for alms. Then they flashed a thumbs-up and took a cupcake break.

“What do you expect from life?” It’s a question much in the air these days. To be honest, I find one answer: To see, to keep seeing. To see what is ordinary and still find it wondrous. Yesterday in Ginza:

And Ginza a year ago to the day:

One train stop away from Tokyo Disneyland

We are in a new normality, made evident by milk.

It was one of the first items to disappear after the quake, along with rice and instant ramen. But just as I was getting around to the idea black coffee, it made a comeback. Three days ago I spotted a batch of 200ml mini-cartons in a Kabukicho convenience store (which I bought multiples of, to my shame). Then yesterday I saw these full-sized one-liter cartons in a department store:

It should have felt that things are moving back to the way they were, but it didn’t: The package was unfamiliar as was its place of origin, Shimane Prefecture, which is closer to South Korea than it is to Tokyo.

Someone really made an effort to get them here. Yet in Fukushima and in prefectures nearby the farmers are throwing their milk away, because higher-than-normal radiation has made it unsellable.

While on the subject, of milk here are some images of carton design from the Milk Tour Nippon 2011, held last month:

The package on the left shows a crested ibis, an icon of Sado Island in Niigata Prefecture. On the right is apple milk from Aomori Prefecture:

This yoghurt package from Appi-kogen highland in Iwate Prefecture was particularly eye-catching. It’s the work of none other than Yusaku Kamekura (1915-1997), better known for his posters for the 1964 Tokyo Olympics :

in Oarai, Ibaraki Prefecture, approximately 100 kilometers northwest of Tokyo:

and in Shinjuku:

I slept at the office the night of the quake, but not well. In the morning I woke to news of the possible meltdown. In the afternoon I walked over to the Ginza neighborhood.

Tokyo changes constantly, but Ginza is unique because it has always maintain a certain sophistication, a poise. Even if you’ve been to the place just once, you can probably recognize it in an old photograph. This day it looked like it always does, reassuring, albeit a bit empty for a Saturday.

I bought a box of chocolates for the upcoming White Day. I put a coin in a monk’s bowl. I had a blueberry juice. Then I noticed these butterflies:

Over the seasons I’ve taken photos of this window many times (see here, here, here or here). In fact I’d taken one just a few days before, following an unusual snowfall.

It was surprising to see a change of display so soon. I took note of the date on the glass, March 11, and remembered how window-dressers work through the night. Imagine while Nature was gathering its force, their hands were bringing us Spring.

The main Ginza intersection in the afternoon after: