The Path of Memories and Sparkling Winds, When the Cherry Blossom Breeze Blows

On the outskirts of town, there is a mysterious path.

No one has it written on a map, and it is not there every day.

Just before twilight.

Only on days when the wind blows strongly does that path appear.

Beside the narrow cobblestones, small white flowers bloom.

Fluff like grains of light drifts softly up into the sky.

People called that path the "Path of Memories and Sparkling Winds".

It is said that when you walk that path, memories you thought you had forgotten come back on the breeze.

I walked along those cobblestones, feeling a little hesitant.

Every time I held down the sleeves of my thin cardigan, the wind rustled through my hair.

Ahead on the path, a small light was drifting.

One, then another.

Like fireflies, they were faintly flickering lights.

Within them, a familiar scene emerged.

The way home from elementary school.

The scent of rusted swings.

The sunset sky.

The narrow slope where I raced someone while my school bag swayed.

Even though they should all be far away, within the light, they were as vivid as if they were yesterday.

Suddenly, a single scene fell before my eyes.

A park in spring.

I, as a small child, was walking with my grandmother along a tree-lined path where cherry blossoms danced.

I held her slightly large hand tightly, we sat on a bench, and we shared a red bean bun between us.

Every time the wind blew, petals fell onto our shoulders, and my grandmother would laugh, saying, "The cherry blossom fairies have come to play."

But, for some reason, I just couldn't remember her face.

That she was kind.

That her hands were a little cold.

That wrinkles formed at the corners of her eyes when she laughed.

Even though I remembered those things, the most important part—her face—remained blurred.

Just then, a strong wind blew.

My hair flutters in disarray, and I hurriedly tuck it behind my ear.

In the wind, there was a small voice.

"You've grown up, haven't you."

I turn around.

There is no one there.

But, along with the scent of flowers, only a nostalgic warmth remained.

In that moment.

A blurred face gently surfaced in my mind.

Slightly drooping eyes.

A gentle way of smiling.

A large hand, stroking my head.

I hadn't forgotten.

I had just kept it tucked away deep in my heart all this time.

Before I knew it, I could see the end of the road.

When I looked back, the grains of light had already dissolved into the wind and vanished.

On the way home.

I looked up at the sky.

The twilight clouds were glowing with a faint golden light.

Perhaps memories don't disappear.

They just become invisible, like the wind.

And surely.

The things that are most precious will come to see us again, somewhere, ever so gently.

I participated in Mikan Katagiri's prompt.😊✨️

It is here👇️