yukiko

One afternoon in late spring, I was sunbathing on a bank next to the village
highway. A large cloud was languishing in the sky, a wisteria-colored shadow
etched onto its underbelly. That pale lavender shadow, coupled with the cloud’s
massive bulk, infused it with a vast, boundless melancholy.

I had been sitting on the edge of the broadest stretch of flatland in the village.
Most of the village’s terrain was comprised of mountains and valleys, so that
everywhere one looked, there was nowhere without an incline. The landscape
seemed as if it were under the constant threat of the law of gravity.
Moreover, the alternation of light and shadow imparted the people of the valley with a constant restlessness.

In such a village, there was no other spot that quite calmed my spirit as much as the view from this flatland did — high up above the valley, bathed in sunlight. The view, which was filled with sunlight from dawn until dusk, felt nostalgic to the point of sadness.