Listen! The plants are moving. Listen to nature’s breath and listen as my feelings rise up for the small wood.
‘Small Wood’ I name my special place. It’s a wild field that hides in the corner of the lake, surrounded by thousands of wild purple petals. And from far away I can see the old tree, which shades the block of stones, grass and part of bamboo’s bush, looking like a hen laying her eggs.
One late afternoon, as a lot of afternoons gone by, I was here relaxing in the tree’s arm. I like to lean my back against its rough bark with my eyes closed and breathe in a chestfull of smells of wet soil and country air. This breath takes all my anxieties away. The wind is wafting the smell of wild flowers and dry hay, a smell so sweet, attractive and uniquely for me. I feel like all my concerns have sunk down with only me remaining free in this place.
Then I open my view and look ahead at the lake’s surface. I quietly sense the smallest movements and the smallest sounds. The wind’s beautiful songs rises and wakes up everything that seems to be in rest. The wind runs through the old tree leaves, stirring them as a hen flutters its wings. Dry leaves fall crisply on the stone. The old bamboo wriggles as if wanting to take a dance. The female wind leads some yellow leaves gliding onto the lake. They then continue the marathon, pushing waves to another bank. Right there, in the green water, is a school of fish snatching at coconut roots. The coconut curves its body and frees her hair down by the lake’s surface with a rustling sound, as if laughing at the fish.
At another bank, the sunshine crowns the gray reed heads with gold coronets. The sun is setting. I look up at the sky. A white bird suddenly crosses my sky, lonely and flying as if chasing the sunlight. Oh my wings! Why chase a pale flower?
Surrounding me, the purple petal dye sunset. Though a little sad, the sun flashes an extremely beautiful light, then suddenly disappears completely. One day has died and a night begins in the celebration of insects and the frogs’ orchestra.
Time goes by. I enjoyed moments like those, restoring something pure and natural, although sad and lonely; in peaceful beauty it touches my soul.
That was the last afternoon when I said goodbye to my Small Wood, a time that’s tearful in my heart. I left to go abroad that evening with my family. I left my special place, the Small Wood.
And now, here I am, thousands of miles away, but it will always be close to me. Because deep down inside of me there will always be a purple sunset and a perfect feeling for the Small Wood, which offered me the passionate images of motherland.
This work was first published in the YWCA booklet, Ehara i a Koe Anake - You're Not Alone and is subject to the copyright conditions of that publication.