An inner city picnic

Sunday saw us venturing over to Kamarikyu, which is a rather lovely little park situated across the water from Odaiba in Tokyo. The sun was shining and everything was gleaming, sparkling and good. You know, one of those days where you just feel whole and that any worries that usually niggle away at us recedes to the far edge of consiousness.
Joining us were Hiro, Kyoko and Linn (again), and we decided such perfect weather deserved picnic. Cor, I really didn't want the day to end. So slow and lazy, with good food, good company, a boat ride and ending the day on a beach, watching lifeguards sprinting endlessly up and down the imported soft white sand, and loud Americans play whooping volleyball.
In the park, we stumbled on some bunkers nestling in small hills, a former duck hunting site, where tamed ducks worked with the samurai hunter to coax wild ducks out into the open so that they could be shot down with elegant long bows and stylishly whooshing arrows. The ghosts of betrayed ducks quacked in the wind, as we peeped through shoot holes that used to carry death ray stares.
Over in Odaiba, consumer palaces of false plasticity gleamed in the dying embers of a beautiful day, with hording people-ants scuttling busily inside, oblivious to the splendour of day end. With no money to spend, I was acutely aware of the futility of materialistic pursuit, and yet, there was a glimmer within me, hard to repress, that wished I could join them in their abandon. Truly, there is nothing more chilling than realizing how shallow one can be.