#Shirokuma Literature Club: Sounds of Summer

Sounds of Summer
When I was a young girl, the world
was overflowing with sound.

Morning radio calisthenics, 6:30 AM.
Rubbing my sleepy eyes, I would hang my card around my neck and head to the neighborhood park, the sound of my rubber sandals flapping against my feet.
Radio calisthenics, starting with 'A new morning has come, a morning of hope,' where children all over the country would move in unison, one-two, three-four,
a nostalgic morning sound.

When I returned from radio calisthenics, Mom would be preparing breakfast in the kitchen, the sound of her chopping greens a rhythmic, pleasant tapping.
I could also hear the sound of Dad busily rustling his newspaper.

After finishing my summer homework, I would run to a friend's house. The sound of cicadas poured down like a shower—jee, jee, shishishishi. When I looked, I saw a large kumazemi cicada; when I reached out my hand, it sprayed me with pee.

When August arrived, the town siren would suddenly wail, and Mom would stop her work to bow her head. I would mimic her and bow my head too. 'Woooo-woooo,' it was a very long sound. When it ended, we returned to our usual daily life. Peace is something you pray for.
Even as a child, I felt something.

When I returned from the pool, I would always lie down on the sofa in the parlor. From the collection of world masterpieces for boys and girls on the bookshelf, I would take out
Around the World in Eighty Days.
An exciting, heart-pounding adventure novel about an English gentleman, Phileas Fogg, and his valet, Passepartout, who bet they could travel around the world in eighty days. Summer is a precious time that taught me the joy of books. I could hear the thumping of my own heart.

When Obon arrived, the town would grow lively, and familiar faces would gather from the city, hands full of souvenirs. Wai-wai, gaya-gaya,
our usual house felt twice as bright. Watching high school baseball on TV, every house would have its windows wide open; when the ball was hit with a 'crack,' a roar of cheers would erupt. Now, these are just nostalgic sounds of a quiet village.

Eventually, the people would leave, and the sound echoing through the village that had regained its silence was the siren marking the end of Koshien, a mournful 'wooooooon' sound. The sky over Koshien was high.
The sun-tanned faces of the ballplayers were drenched in tears.
It makes me want to cry, too.
Summer is ending.
It is coming to an end.
I kicked a can with a clatter,
and a red dragonfly landed on the can.

Autumn was just around the corner.
Those nostalgic sounds will never return.

The End
The sounds of summer—I don't feel them these days.
Even though it was so full of sound when I was a child...

Thank you for reading.