The Blue Gate

In the cold of winter, I thought of those summer days... What kind of story is this, and how does it begin? The images, the characters, the setting. Everything unfolds slowly, one detail at a time. How many scorching summers have we lived through? We huddled beneath the eaves, up in the bamboo tower, looking at the world with eyes that had never weathered a storm. It was in days like these that memories slowly crept out, rolled over you, and built a dam inside you as monumental as a stone monument, seeming as though it would never fall.