Gero-Jii is a big, bumpy frog who lives on the tiny plot of land behind our apartment. He doesn’t do much, rarely even moves, and I’ve never heard him make a sound. But he still makes my wife scream every once in awhile. In Japan, an animal that comes with the season is often considered a visitor. Gero-Jii hops along, hauling the Tsu-yu (rainy season) along behind him. Sort of like the red-breasted robin in the eastern US, but with more warts and humidity.
Umi-Bozu are Japanese O-bake, ghost or monsters that haunt the seas. They are the bane of finshermen, boat-sinkers and drowners of sailors. Bozu, incidentally, is the character for “monk”; and the creature is so-named for it’s large, round head. Seeing as the Umibozu tower over ships and crew, Gero-Jii must be a particularly large specimen. It’s no surprise that frogs pop up in fairy tales and ghost stories so often. There’s something vaguely eerie about them, with their metamorphosis from tadpole and their living between two worlds. Or maybe it’s their zen-like calm as they sit in the middle of a dark street, mulling over whether they should cross.
I have a confession to make. I’m exactly three years too old to have played with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles toys. I am able to pinpoint the time gap because my younger brother, 
In a landscape covered with houses built from paper and wood, emergency is spelled f-i-r-e. Well, actually, it’s spelled 火. The guy responsible for looking after the hot stuff was Homasubi, the god of fire. His story is rather short and dark (think about giving birth to a god of fire), but he wasn’t a bad guy. Just had a bit of a temper, you know.
I’ve noticed a sort of pattern in my thought process. Whenever I have an important descision to make, I ask the people I most trust for advice. The trick of it all is that I already know the answer, at least on some level. I’m just waiting for them to tell me what I already know. 
Aside from a metaphor-heavy 
