How long has it been since that summer? Squint your eyes and everything becomes blurry and confusing. Memory is like a crazy little beast, constantly charging and shouting, but unable to clearly find an exit that can be redeemed.
It was only a long time later that I learned that the tree was called camphor; the noisy and silent corridor of the girls' dormitory, along with the curtains blown up and down by the wind and the flickering sunshine, were hidden among the flower branches of the "fleeting time", flourishing, and then withered.