my son's mother, ijuin kiritsubo.

A quiet residential area. There is a flat house building. The backyard of a 40-year-old Japanese-style house that never seems to be rich. It is an open enclosure. A woman sitting on her back. Ijuin no suke, a great empress of grief. He is sighing with an expression that does not appear to him. Iju-in Temple on the edge of the temple. In his hand, he had a broom and a chip. I suppose you want to clean the garden. Then he sat down on the edge, and sighed with a troubled face. Why? Why sigh. Why she can't stand up, her son Minor behind her. He is "sneezing" from behind. and groaned his mother's breast, without saying a word, with her face shaking.

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