I was walking alone on the mountain path in my hometown. During my return home at Obon holiday, I somehow wanted to climb a mountain. A cicada voice like a buddha, sweat and sunbeams and fumes of grass. Distant memories from boyhood overlap. It had a sweet and sour scent. A young woman fell down in front of me in the middle of a steep slope. White summer clothes, tanned skin, and red high heels. “Nothing.” It was not a corpse. She must have noticed my footsteps. "I'm just resting because I'm tired of walking." It was an innocent voice. She opened her eyes thinly, but she exhausted and closed it. It was a very beautiful and mysterious sleeping face. I kneeled down and gently touched her high heels. “If you walk on a mountain path, barefoot is good.”
