Within the frames of discovery, I write: "A Vista in the Fog." I push the button with my thumb and a vista opens on my screen suffused by fog. These are hundreds of fogged vistas, hundreds of white screens.
A car passes me by. It is raining, roads slippery and fog all around. I hold my mobile phone to the window of the car -- the road, fog, and half the windshield wiper are recorded.
At night, when I am sitting next to the fire with my cigarette, I watch the road-fog-half-the-windshield-wiper film. It's only 10 seconds. I notice the blue truck that passes us by, blinking. The film ends. I save it in my handset under "A Vista in the Fog".
On JOMHURI Street at night, I am standing in front of a big store selling bigger TV displays. A single image is repeated in eleven monitors, images of small airplanes frolicking in the blue sky, brilliant white clouds, squirrels and colorful air balloons. Next to me stands a young man wearing slippers and a light blue shirt. He's been transfixed by the images for a while now. When I leave, he is still standing. It is snowing and Jomhuri Street is covered with fog.
At night, next to the steam of the kettle on the stove, I show the picture that I have taken of his slippers to a friend. I have its file "A Vista in the Fog."
Image Credit: Negar Haraini