Memories of a Strange City
by Need A Melon
About This Novel
The sad-looking postman seemed to come from the horizon. I have been on the balcony after the rain, trying to see through the road between the two rows of sycamore trees downstairs. The sycamore trees that had begun to lose their leaves were wet and shiny because of the rain that had just stopped. Every year, I have to wait until all the leaves have fallen before I can see the other side of the road from this balcony. At this time, I felt relieved. I just like to see the winding road at a glance through the intertwined, crusty and peeling tree trunks. However, the next year, as the leaves sprouted, the gray-black road disappeared again among the lush foliage, and I was once again at a loss. It wasn't until another late autumn swept by that I could gain some steadiness brought by the sense of clarity in the sudden realization of my return.
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