Memories of the sunset.

I grew up in the countryside of Hokkaido.

On summer nights, frogs would croak loudly in the rice fields behind our house. Sometimes, frogs would even get inside the house.

On hot summer nights, my father and mother would prepare to grill meat in the garden, and my four siblings and I would grill meat together with the neighborhood children.

On summer nights, I preferred watching the stars over playing with fireworks. If I stared at the stars intently, I could see a few glimmers moving slowly.

When I asked my father, "Are those UFOs?" he would tell me, "Those are artificial satellites or the space station."

...

When winter came, the rice fields behind our house would turn into a vast snowy plain.
a vast snowy plain.

Swans would fly in, and their honking could be heard all the way inside the house. That was because the town where I grew up was on the swans' migratory path.

So, I would wake up in the morning and go to see them in the snowy rice fields.

"They're swans, but they've turned brown from mud or something."

I thought to myself.

I loved the stars at night in winter, too.

That's because I could see the constellation Orion.

Orion can only be seen in winter.

There are three large, beautiful stars lined up on Orion's belt, and as a little child, I could stare at them forever. I didn't care about the sub-zero temperatures.

I drew Orion over and over in my school notebook.
The four stars surrounding the three stars of Orion's belt. I even drew the arms of the hero Orion, and his face too.

Until I was about in the sixth grade, I would draw Orion in my notebook and smile to myself, without showing it to anyone. That's how much I loved Orion.

What I loved even more was the sunset.

In the summer, when I sat on the swings at the neighborhood park, the sun would set right in front of me. There were mountains in the distance, and the setting sun would be swallowed up by them.

In everyday life, you don't really notice that the sun is moving, but as it gets closer to the edge of the mountains, you can actually see its movement with your own eyes.

I loved the time I spent just staring at that.
Small and all alone on the swing.

The time before the sun sets and it gets pitch black.

Insects would buzz around, and mole crickets would gather on the road where no cars ever passed.

I would kick my soccer ball around, trying not to step on the mole crickets. All by myself again. I wanted to get better at soccer, so I practiced juggling the ball for a long time.

Eventually, when it got completely dark, the smell of miso soup or curry would drift from the surrounding houses. I loved that smell, too.

When I had been kicking my soccer ball near the house for a long time, my mother would eventually come outside.

And she would say:

...

I no longer live in that countryside, and
my family home is no longer there either.

After I got married, I really wanted to show my wife that sunset, so we went to the town where I grew up to watch it together. There was no one left in the park where I used to play as a child; it was just the two of us.

Living in Sapporo now, I never see the sunset. That is because I am surrounded by buildings.

If I were to have a child,
I would want to show them that sunset every day.

That is why I think of my parents.

Thank you so much
for raising me in that countryside.

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