Here is one from a few years ago, about an Okinawa that is no longer the same (everywhere changes). But when I first lived there, fishing boats still slid down the tides, and the rural kids (yes, there were a few), had the greatest beach parties in the tropical nights. Here is a picture of some of that.
Alongside a wet sand beach
sea snakes swarmed for days
and high school kids got drunk
on plum wine
around weekend seashore campfires.
Learned something there,
eight hundred miles from China,
about fishing, while walking,
staring across the East China Sea
under a purple setting sun
again and again.
Felt twelve generations of humanity
push little fishing boats
further out to sea; knew
the ache of fishing before the boats
are home; met the widows
of one more generation lost
to some hungering tide.
Somehow understood my petty efforts,
chasing Bass and Walleye,
would not feed an entire people
but are welcome
along with firelit wine.
Walking is an easy teacher at cliff edges,
in tide pools, Sake Bars,
shaking off salt spray and tiredness,
things which arise
twelve generations of tide