Inokashira Koen, the sprawling park in Tokyo’s Western suburb of Kichijoji, was my backyard. Having grown up in the area, I spent countless days after school and weekends exploring the park on bicycle or on foot. There always seemed to be a section that had been magically added; that I hadn’t discovered yet.
The park was known for many things: a lake and rowboats associated with an urban legend that predicted couples who rowed together would break up, a grisly murder, and – for a short week in late March – a multitude of cherry trees whose blossoms turned the park white and pink.

























