At dusk, small sparks of fire drew a soft line on the deep azure sky, so close they seemed like fireflies, and only when a strong wind blew through did the flames sound, scattering red grains all around. The sparks vanished as if drawn into a sky deepening to blue-black, and following them with my eyes I wondered where the light was going. Blown away, stirred up and put out by the wind, the sparks I watched over and over until night fell completely, and as my skin grew cold I recognised a feeling of loss like that of once losing something very important. There were no signs of fire any more on the road through the rice fields; the wind grew colder, and a few stars shone in the colourless sky.