Near the atomic bomb museum is the Peace Park, where there is a memorial to those killed by the atomic bomb. The park's centerpiece is a huge statue that resembles a Buddha, except one arm is held straight out. As I write this in my notebook, it is 11 a.m. on Sunday. I am twenty-five yards away from the black monolith erected under the epicenter of the atomic bomb blast in Nagasaki. It was overcast that day, and no doubt unbearably hot and muggy.
Today is a warm, blue-sky spring day.
I look overhead where impending death silently screamed toward the ground so many years ago. Seeing a couple of crows circling, I recall that the crow is the symbol of death in some cultures. I just caught myself checking the sky above the birds to make sure there were no planes. No planes, but the roar of traffic from the road 100 yards away is in marked contrast to the secluded tranquility of the lush little park. I just came from the building behind where I am sitting, the Atomic Bomb Museum.