About Kazefumi (Wind Letters)

A story I heard a long time ago.

Among the falling snowflakes, there are, very rarely, ones shaped like tree leaves.

They are called Kazefumi, or wind letters.

◇

I came across this story in a corner of the internet over twenty years ago.

It was said that the final thoughts of someone lost in the snowy mountains would ride the wind to reach their family.

It was a story like a legend.

Whether it is a tale truly passed down in some mountain village, or someone's creative fiction, I do not know.

At this point, it is impossible to tell.

However, for some reason, that story alone remained in my heart.

At the time, I was working as a member of a mountain rescue team.

There were lives I saved.

And there were lives I could not save.

Perhaps that is why.

I wrote that passage down in a notebook.

As the years went by, that mysterious story gradually changed its shape within me.

And one day, it became a short story.

"Kazefumi" (Wind Letters).

A story about the thoughts of a young man who met with disaster being entrusted to the wind and reaching his mother.

Snow spirits and a small rabbit appear, and the mother builds a small shrine.

It is a mysterious tale.

But for me, it was not just a fantasy.

I feel that story was mixed with a little bit of prayer for those who could not be saved, and wishes for those who were left behind.

I did not realize it when I wrote it.

Or perhaps, I was pretending not to notice.

"Kazefumi" was a story.

At the same time, I think it was also something I myself had been carrying for a long time.

◇

I posted it to note last autumn.

To be honest, I did not have high expectations.

It is a short story.

Moreover, it is a story about a person lost in the snowy mountains entrusting their thoughts to the wind, which is by no means flashy.

I thought it would just flow by quietly.

Because I thought that writing on the internet was like fallen leaves blown by the wind.

Even if it caught someone's eye, it would be forgotten by the next day.

I suppose that's just how it is.

However, 'Kazefumi' went on an unexpected journey.

Many people read it.

They wrote their thoughts about it.

Some people layered their own memories onto it.

People who remembered family they had lost.

People who remembered the scenery of their hometown.

People who remembered words they couldn't convey to someone.

Even though I was the one who wrote it, before I knew it, 'Kazefumi' had become each reader's own story.

Now, I think about it.

Perhaps the protagonist of that work wasn't the young man who was stranded, nor the mother.

It was likely someone living within the hearts of those who read it.

And, 'Kazefumi' also brought people to me.

People I had never met before.

Fellow creators who continue to write.

People who laughed together in the comments section.

People who encouraged me.

At times, people who write much better prose than I do.

Looking back, it is a mysterious thing.

I intended to write "Kazefumi".

But in reality, perhaps I was the one being led by "Kazefumi".

I am the one who wrote the work.

However, the scenery that the work showed me was something I could never have reached on my own.

That is why I am grateful.

To those who read it.

To those who encountered it.

And above all, to "Kazefumi" itself.

◇

I submitted that "Kazefumi" to the All-Category section of the Creative Awards.

It was not with the intention of winning an award.

It was quite the opposite.

In the world of creation, there are much more skillful writings.

There are also more perfected stories.

I know that.

Even so, I submitted it.

It was more of a farewell gift than a challenge.

A story that had been inside me for a long time.

A story that introduced me to many people.

A story that became the origin of my creative work.

That is why, in the end, I wanted to send it out to a slightly larger place.

The result is for the wind to decide.

It might reach someone.

It might not reach anyone.

But it has already left my hands.

Since it is a 'Kazefumi' (Wind Letter), that is fine.

◇

Recently, I have started to think about something.

I am the one who wrote 'Kazefumi'.

But the beginning of 'Kazefumi' was not me.

It was an unidentified phrase I found in a corner of the internet that day.

I don't even know who wrote it.

I don't even know if it was truly a piece of folklore.

Perhaps, just like me, it was a creative piece someone wrote down while thinking of something.

However, those words remained within me.

They remained for over twenty years.

And so it became a short story.

If that is the case.

Perhaps I was more of a recipient than an author.

I think I simply picked up what came riding on the wind, gave it a shape of my own, and passed it on.

That is why I decided to write this article.

To express my gratitude.

And to give it back.

"Kazefumi" gave me so many things.

Encounters with readers.

Encounters with fellow creators.

Encounters with unforgettable works.

And, an encounter with what I truly wanted to write.

It is more than enough.

So I think it is my turn now to return it to the wind.

I will leave it here.

The words that became the prototype for "Kazefumi".

The real Kazefumi.

I received it.

And so, I wrote a 'Wind Letter'.

If it remains in the heart of someone who reads this.

If it becomes a different story years from now.

That, too, must be a Wind Letter.

◆

A story I heard long ago.

Among the falling snowflakes, there are, very rarely, ones shaped like leaves.

These are called Wind Letters.

When a Wind Letter touches human skin and melts, it becomes a voice.

It is the final words of someone who perished in the mountains.

For those who unexpectedly became the dead, their souls forced to the path of the underworld while their bodies remained on the mountain path, the Snow Spirit takes pity and delivers their messages to their loved ones.

The appearance of the Snow Spirit varies greatly.

However, it seems a small white rabbit is always playing at its feet.

Because of this, those who receive a Wind Letter build a small shrine, about the size of a pumpkin, and enshrine a small snow rabbit inside.

As an offering, they place a dumpling in one half of a walnut shell on a bamboo leaf, and sake in the other half.

The couple who told me this story said that they definitely heard their son's voice from a Wind Letter that had attached itself to the cuff of his father's overcoat.

'I'm sorry, I'll surely be home by spring.'

Just as those words promised, he returned from the mountain at the end of the following spring.

Since then, no more Wind Letters have come, but on the anniversary of their son's death, a shrine with a small rabbit sitting quietly inside is built in the garden.
(End of original text)

◆

I do not know if this story is true.

I do not know if it is a legend or a work of fiction.

But I received it.

And so, I leave it here.

The wind can sometimes blow to unexpected places.

Just as the words someone left behind long ago reached me.

I hope that this time, this wind will reach someone.

Here are my wind letters.