Rhapsody in August(After Kurosawa and the absence of peace)
The only uncertainty now is peace. This essay, however, is about certainty. The certainty of memories. And the certainty that many of the men and women who figured in this past of mine are all gone. And with them as well is my youth, that unencumbered sense of idealism and bravado that once guided me through museums of peace and gardens of mothers swooning into the heavens as they cradled deaths and sufferings and monumental rendering of wars.
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