With the hustle and bustle of Golden Week and the world

On my way back from sketching in Takimichi, I learned from social networking sites that a student demonstration calling for anti-genocide at U.S. University was suppressed by police force.
It was the first day of Golden Week. The waterfall path was crowded with more people and more stalls than usual, but as I stretched my mind and body against the fresh greenery and picked up my brush, the sounds of nature were surprisingly loud and the voices of people melted away. Occasionally, there were people who would walk up behind me sketching, but the swaying of the trees would melt away any sign of their presence.
As the sounds, thoughts, and information disappear from my mind, I feel a smooth connection between the screen and my consciousness. As I make a move to regain my grip on the buried trunk, I suddenly come back to myself. The orange line dividing the screen into foreground and background was a contrast. I thought to myself, "This is the reality of being this far away from the tree.
The reality that the trunk and the background are this far apart simultaneously captures the foreground and the background.
I remembered that the voice I thought had melted away had not disappeared.
I just couldn't hear them anymore.
They are both there.
How could I have forgotten?
Down in the city, the sound of water and trees in my ears tried and failed to muffle the voices. Maybe because it was an escape. But the canvas I carried in my right hand, the orange lines drawn on it, flowed in from my phone and eventually split between the many angry voices echoing through my body, protecting my outline.

It means I have to draw a line that grabs both and live with it, I thought as I rode my bike home on the sunny road.
Don't be sunburned, I'm pathetic. Because that pettiness will lower me into a cage of helplessness.