In the summer when I was five years old, there was always a lazy sweetness floating in the air, like the smell of ripe wisteria flowers that have been melted by the sun. The old sycamore tree in the courtyard opened its huge canopy, sifting out the broken gold shaking all over the ground. I squatted next to the root of the tree, and my little hands were trying to gather the lavender sycamore flowers scattered on the ground, trying to put them back together into one complete flower like the one on the tree. The tori is furry and rubs against the palm of my hand, making it a little itchy.
Reader comments
Very interesting, I finished watching it in one sitting
Very interesting, I finished watching it in one sitting