Chapter Five - Wind

Ali strained his eyes, as to get a better view of the grazing herd in the distance. The sun had begun to set, and dusk fell quickly on the open field and its surrounding hills. The evening star had already come out, and a pale crescent moon was growing brighter and fuller by the seconds. Heavy clouds were gathering in the distance, and it seemed as if it could start to rain any minute now. It was time to head back. Kamir would be expecting them for sure by now.

Ali put on his backpack and reached out for his shepherds cane. It was time. He began to walk briskly towards the still scattered herd, some sixty meters away, Salaam wagging enthusiastically along at his side. The wind seemed to be picking up speed quickly. Could a storm be coming? Ali rubbed at his eyes as to clear them. The landscape was quickly becoming hazy, and the hills fading away rapidly. What on earth was this? Could really a fog be coming in, at this late hour?

Ali froze. Nothing he had ever seen or experienced thus far, could have prepared him for the spectacle that was beginning to unfold in front of his very eyes. Sure, he had heard rumours – impossible rumours, but never in his life would he have thought that they could be true. Salaam sensing his unease and the dramatic change in air suddenly started to bark fiercely at whatever was approaching.

The sky was now completely dark, yet there were no stars, and even the moon had vanished completely. Thick clouds were creeping down the hills, so low that the air felt wet and heavy to breathe. But that wasn't all of it. There was something more. Something very off with the whole thing. Something was very wrong. There seemed to reek about a most strange tension that vibrated with something awfully dark and cold. It was just as if the air was becoming laden with clouds of fear, death, pain and sorrow. He could feel his elbow-hairs rising in response, and a cold shiver ran down his spine. This was strange. The air seemed to somehow vibrate with despair. He instinctively reached for a small lantern from his backpack and lit it without hesitation, holding it up in front of him, as if in defense.

The air thickened even further. Salaams vigorous barking and the howling wind were now the only sounds on the plain. Whatever was out there, it was coming their way, fast. And sure enough, it wasn't before long, that a long, hazy mass of dark green and grayish white could be seen steadily wriggling its way towards them. The herd seemed somehow oblivious to what was happening, grazing sheepishly on as if nothing amiss.

A sharp gust of wind then hit Ali in the face, making him wince and tense up even further in response. Should he try to run? No, the herd was everything. Whatever was a shepherd, without his sheep? And however could he return to Kamir and look him straight into the eyes if anything happened to them, while he lived? Not to mention his own sense of self respect. No, some things were just more important than his own life. He'd much rather face his fears today, than to face himself with shame tomorrow. Whatever this thing was, he'd fight it off, or die trying. Simple as that. Either way was fine.

It was then, that the ominous looking sky suddenly opened up, and began to empty itself, bringing down heavy waves of rain upon them. He quickly broke into a run towards the herd, lantern swinging at his side like a glowing pendulum. Salaam too, faithfully at his side. Nearly there. Just a little further now.

As he ran, he tried to recall everything and anything his teacher had told him about the thing he now was facing. Any sort of hint would do. Anything.

At least once a week, he'd go into the city to meet with Yadgaar, a religious teacher he immediately had felt a strong liking for. He remembered how he had opened up to Yadgaar right away, sharing his innermost feelings and thoughts somehow without any awkwardness. After a recent meeting, Yadgaar had told him about a most curious rumour he had heard. A most ominous wind was supposed to be spreading throughout the land. A wind of forgetfulness, he called it. Nobody knew exactly what it was, from where it came, or how it had come into being. Whatever it was though, it was spreading quickly, and wherever it went, a trail of death and decay was left in its wake. Somehow, it always seemed to come at the hour of twilight. Whole forests were supposed to already have gone to waste, and many towns and villages seemed to also have fallen victim to its strange destructive power. What exactly had happened to the people in those places, no one knew. The towns had simply cut all contact with the outside world. What Yadgaar had heard though, was that were you touched by this wind, you would completely forget all that is good and true. Plants and trees would forget to cleanse the air and make precious oxygen. Instead they would begin to emit poison, killing off all surrounding life, as well as each other. Birds would forget how to sing and how to fly, and drop dead to the ground. Animals would forget their animal instincts. They'd forget to eat. Forget to drink. In mere days they'd topple over from sheer thirst. And humans, they'd forget their own humanity. All that is good. They'd forget to care about others. Forget to love. Forget to smile and laugh. All light would leave their hearts, and eyes. And that's how you were supposed to be able to tell if somebody had been touched. Their eyes would be dull, distant and empty. Just as if that person were miles away, off somewhere far, and looked out on the world through a haze of total indifference. What's more, it seemed that there was no going back. No reverse. Had you first been touched, then there was no return. Having had the light sucked out of them, people would readily turn into thieves, robbers, and even killers. Towns would quickly turn into a mayhem of chaos and conflict. Looting and pillaging quickly becoming the norm. Fires would erupt out of nowhere, and level districts and towns in a night. There would be no police, fire-brigade or public security to the rescue. No one to call for help. On the contrary, the former police would be part of the terror.

Under the cover of darkness, at the mystic hour of twilight, the wind would fall upon them, seemingly out of nowhere, and disappear again just as suddenly as it had come. It was supposed to be the colour of a venomous dark green, and wriggle its way towards its unsuspecting victims much like a snake on the hunt. But there would be no sound. In total silence, it zig-zagged low, hugging the ground, leaving a brown trail of withered vegetation in its wake.

Ali felt yet another violent shiver run down his spine, as he recalled the final words Yadgaar had told him that night.

“Pray that this thing be nothing more than a creative rumour my friend. For should even part of it carry some truth, then truly I say to you, God bless us all.”

That last sentence kept ringing in Ali's ears as he closed the final distance to the herd, the wriggling green mass a mere stonethrow away.

“God bless us all.”

Ali took up position in front of his sheep, the small lantern held out straight in front of him, unwavering. Salaam still at his side, barking madly. Clenching the fist of his freehand, Ali so braced himself for impact.

“God bless us all.”

Those were the last words in Ali's mind before everything he held dear was engulfed by the green, hazy mass all around.

I that very moment, something began to vibrate, and feel hot around Ali's chest. Suddenly, a wild flurry of perfect thin, pale blue streaks of light shot out from his tunic, throwing the green mass back several meters. The pale blue light beams so went on to rotate like a spinning whirlpool, before slowly forming a perfect luminous sphere of pale light around him. Ali looked around him in bewilderment. He could see Salaam, most of the herd and himself gently illuminated by the blue protective sphere that now surrounded them. The rain kept pouring down, and he could feel his chest suddenly hot to the touch.

“Whatever was this?...Could it possibly be...?”

Ali quickly reached under his tunic and withdrew a small heart-shaped necklace made out of a simple gray stone. He gasped. The necklace had been around his neck as long as he could remember, his whole life. Even when he took a bath, he'd never even once taken it off. Together with the woolen blanket, it was the most precious thing he was fortunate enough to be looking after.

The caretaker at the orphanage had told him that it had been around his neck the day they received him as an infant in a basket. And also, that it was his only possession. He figured it must have belonged to his parents. It seemed to be made out of some dull and common gray stone of no apparent value, yet to Ali, it meant the world, and more.

That gray, lifeless stone now shone a bright blue and vibrated with life and warmth. The green mass repeatedly tried to force its way through the lightsphere, yet to no avail. Time and again it was thrown back, like a fly throwing itself on a shut window. It so changed its course and spread out on the field, touching a few stray sheep that were too far from Ali and the herd to be within the sphere of light. Then as quickly and suddenly as it had appeared, it somehow dispersed into the evening dusk, leaving a moon-struck seventeen year old boy, dozens of drenched sheep and a dog on a now muddy field.

Even in the dark, it didn't take long for Ali and Salaam to gather the herd and head home.

Back at the farm, Kamir greeted them with a casual nod, as was his habit.

“I see the sudden rainshower came as surprisingly on you as it did on us.” Kamir smiled, gesturing towards Ali's still dripping tunic. Ali however wasn't smiling.

“Kamir...” he began in the most respectful and serious tone he could muster. “...we were....we were attacked. It was the....” he paused, searching for words. Kamir too wasn't smiling anymore. Ali sensing he now had his full attention continued telling the story: “The sky went dark. Rain came suddenly. The wind picked up speed, and then, out of nowhere, a green hazy mass came on us from across the field. It was like the rumour Yadgaar had told me about. The wind of forgetfulness or something he called it.”

Kamir simply looked at him, clearly bemused. A long silence stretched out between them, and in the end Kamir simply shrugged and said: “Well, at any rate, I'm just glad you are all alright.”

Ali looked at Kamir intently, willing him to make some sort of remark that recognized the truth of what they had just experienced. It never came, and Kamir was already turning away and making his way back towards the house. Shaking his head again in disbelief, Ali just stood there for some time. He had never felt so lost in his entire life. Had he just imagined it all? Did Kamir actually believe him? Would anyone else do if he told them? Would Yadgaar? It didn't matter so much, yet it somehow gnawed on his usual peace of mind. Time would tell. It always did. First things first, the herd must be put back into their farmhouse.

Having finished with the usual routine and counted them all, he felt a little more at peace. Thank god. They were all there. Still, he recalled some of them having been touched by that green wind thing, and sure enough, exactly those sheep seemed a little more...well, “sheepish” than usual. They didn't even drink, or lay down to rest with the rest of the herd. Well, at least they were all there. Reassured by their presence and calmed by the steady rhythm of performing routine tasks, Ali retired to his room with Salaam and a bowl of hot lentil soup from the kitchen.

Over the next couple of days, Ali kept more or less entirely to himself. He did his work with the herd and chores around the farm, but didn't speak to anyone, not even Kamir. Especially not with Kamir. His apparent lack of faith in his story had made Ali feel a distance between them he had not felt before. It felt somehow impossible to breach, so he decided not to try. Ali looked down at the heart-shaped stone-necklace around his neck. He had been looking at it time and again ever since that night on the field, as if willing it to start glowing and emit that strange blue light, just one more time. It would have been some sort of confirmation to Ali that what had happened that night, truly was real. Somehow he was beginning to doubt it a little. It was then, still in the early wee hours of morning that Kamir suddenly knocked on his door.

“I see you're up already, lad.”

“I'd like you to come with me to the farmhouse. There's something strange with some of the herd.”

“Something strange..?” Ali replied sheepishly through the door.

“Just come with me lad, and you'll see for yourself.”

It didn't take long for the two to cross the farm over to the little farmhouse on the hill. Most of the herd was already up, and at first glance it all seemed normal to Ali. Kamir then pointed out a small group of maybe four or five sheep that seemed to be still asleep, huddled up together in the corner of the room. Ali too saw now what probably had alerted Kamir. Sure enough, they seemed to be peacefully asleep, yet their eyes were wide open, terrified and distant, just as if they were long gone or facing some dreadful nightmare inside that only they could see. Shivers ran down Ali's spine. Following Kamir's lead, they crossed over to them and Ali put his hand on the closest one. It was ice-cold to the touch. Kamir too copied his action. He froze on the spot, as if unable to move, then turned to Ali. The dim lit room was without any form of light, except from the small lantern Kamir held in his free hand. In complete silence they let go of the sheep and turned to face each other. For some time they simply gazed into each-others eyes, and then finally at last, nodded in mutual agreement, as if a great truth had just been spoken. Without another word, they strove out of the building, out into the fresh air and pale morning sun.

That night Ali had the most strange and vivid dream. He was sitting by the fireplace in the little room that Yadgaar and Ali used for their meetings. Only this time, Yadgaar was not there. In fact, he seemed to be all alone. Then all of a sudden, the window burst open and a powerful gust of wind blew out the fire, leaving Ali sitting in total darkness by himself. Then a voice began to speak, and somehow it reminded of Yadgaar's voice, but it was hard to be sure. It sounded much harsher and way more anxious than he had ever heard Yadgaar sound.

“There's not much time.” The voice began.

“The wind of forgetfulness is rising, and it will not cease by itself. Not this time.”

“When the four corners of the world unite, when the four hearts beat together as one, first then will it subside. Only then will it perish. Four must become one. There's not much time...”

The voice then seemed to slowly fade out, before disappearing completely out into the black night.

Ali woke with a start, the last words still ringing clearly in his head. “Four must become one. There's not much time...”. “Four what...?” Ali thought to himself. He rubbed his eyes sleepily. “Four hearts...unite...four corners of the world...hmmm...” He couldn't quite make sense out of it. But Yadgaar's room had been there, and maybe his voice as well. Perhaps that could be a lead of some sort. Either way, he had to meet up with Yadgaar and tell him about his dream, and maybe also about that night on the field. Unable to fall asleep again, Ali got up, dressed and walked out into the cool night air.

For a while he simply stood there, wrapped up in a sheepskin against the cold, gazing up at the clear night sky above. The stars somehow always seemed to calm him. He took some comfort from their quiet presence and timeless calm. Whoever could feel lonesome under the stars? Whoever could feel lost or in the dark under so much light? Life down here often seemed filled with uncertainty and change. Yet the stars and the night sky, it remained much the same. No matter what big changes hit his own life, the stars would remain totally unaffected. The sky would be much the same as a week ago, even though for Ali, nothing was the same. That simple truth brought him much peace, and he could feel the worries of the world slipping away, leaving him calm and happy, with a soft smile on his face. There would be a meaningful lesson from all of this. He felt sure of it.

He looked down at Salaam, standing quietly next to him. He had followed him out of the room, without Ali even noticing. He rubbed him affectionately between the ears, to Salaams great pleasure. Salaam would follow Ali so quietly around wherever he went, that Ali sometimes wondered if he wasn't really one of those quiet stars above, reborn as a shepherd dog. He liked that thought. It made him feel even closer to them.

Chapter Four – Mei

It was a beautiful day. Creamy, white clouds adorned the azure spring sky of Jideba, capitol of the east. It was Sunday, and Mei was out for an early walk in the city. She felt light in her white and yellow cotton blouse, and took in all the wondrous smells and sounds of city-spring with much heartfelt joy as she walked about. The sidewalk was paved with red tiles, and lined with tall Ginko temple trees that were just beginning to sprout fesh, green leaves. She stopped next to one of them, gazing up at the vast array of budding branches amongst the canopy. High up there, she could sight two birds, busying themselves with laying the last finishing touch on their cozy little home-to-be. And what a lovely home it was becoming. She smiled, and felt herself drift away to a warm and happy place that only she knew.
Then suddenly, a sharp honk and the sound of a car hitting the breakes hard brought her back to reality. She turned around quickly, only to see a man standing in the middle of the road in front of a large, black car. The driver so rolled down his window and began to shout at the man in the street, who in turn shouted back with much anger. The shouting got louder and louder, and they began using words Mei wished she had never heard or learned. After a while, the driver seemed to have had enough and drove off. The man in the street then crossed to the other side, and that was the end of it.

Mei looked down, lost in thought. «It doesn't have to be this way...» she muttered to herself.
«Why did this happen? Why did it happen like this...this way...?»
Sure, there were no traffic lights or pedestrian crossing, so the man probably shouldn't have tried to cross there in the first place. But even so, it didn't have to turn out this way; two people throwing hurtful words at eachother in angry voice. If only they had known a deeper feeling of love for the other, this surely wouldn't have happened...right? Even if the man so tried to cross, and the driver so had to hit the breaks, the whole thing could have been so different, if only they knew some deeper feeling of love for eachother. Maybe then, the walking man would have apologised to the driver, who would then have said in a warm tone that, it was alright, and the man in the street could then have taken a few steps back to let the car pass before he crossed to the other side.
«...if only people cared more for eachother...» she muttered quietly to herself.
«It's not that they've forgotten to care...they...just don't remember it.»
Mei believed strongly that absolutely everyone knew a deeper sense of love and care for eachother somewhere deep inside, everyone. Even if they didn't always act as if they did, then surely it was only because they had forgotten that they knew.
This was one of the sides of city life that could make her feel so sad at times it was hard to bare. Sometimes, it seemed almost as if people didn't even look at each other as fellow human beings. Instead, they might be reduced to little more than just a role or a job. The taxi driver, the shopkeeper, the businessman or the construction worker. What's more, it somehow seemed as if kindness bought with money wasn't even considered a thing worth returning, or being thankful for.
«...if only people cared...» she muttered quietly again to herself.
She often saw how people would walk past each other on sidewalks, or inside shops just as if the person they just passed wasn't even there. They might as well have been invisible or made out of thin air. Sure, living in a city with so many people, Mei could see that greeting everyone you met on your way wouldn't always be so practical. But still, surely, there could be something in between, some sort of middle-way where people simply recognized eachother as fellow human beings no matter the role or situation. That would be something worth wishing for, and worth fighting for.
«...they just don't remember...» she whispered quietly to herself, still facing down towards the massive trunk of the tree. Then all of a sudden, all the way down between the roots, something tiny and blue caught her glistening eyes. A tiny flower, one that she knew from last spring. A tiny Forget-Me-Not stood there all by itself, swaying gently in the mild midday breeze.
«Forgetmenot» Mei whispered to herself, eyes slightly widening in surprise. A deeper feeling of love for eachother...forget-me-not. Please remember...»
She didn't yet quite know how, but she knew that she wanted to do something to help make people remember. And so it happened, that from that day on, that modest little flower who stood so seemingly forgotten by the busy world around it, became something like a symbol and a reminder to Mei. A reminder of what she had witnessed that day, and also of the decision she had made. She would do something about it. Forget-me-not.

Returning to her room later that day, she sat down at her desk to pen down her thoughts into her diary. Having jotted down the gist of it, she removed her blouse and reached into a drawer for a sewingkit. She so took out needle and thread, and began to make careful, blue stitches on the left chest-pocket of her favorite white and yellow blouse. One small stitch followed the other, and it wasn't before long that a pretty, small flower started to take shape. «Forget-me-not» she whispered contently to herself just as she finished with the last petal, holding the blouse out in front of her. She was no sewist, but it would have to do. After all, it was only to help her remember. Maybe some day, the world would listen, and become the place that she had always wished in her heart for it to be. She knew that perhaps it was too big a thing to wish for, but it was the true and honest wish of her heart, and so she was helpless.
Having put her blouse back on again, she looked down at her cat rubbing suggestively towards her legs and smiled. She reached down to pick it up, placing the purring little furball gently on her lap. Its color was somewhere between pink and orange, much like that of a ripe peach, and so that was the name Mei had given it. Peach. It was a beautiful color for a girl cat she thought. Only the tip of her tale and a crescent shaped spot on her chest was white, the rest a warm shade of fiery pink that complimented her bright pink little nose. And her eyes, a vivid shade of green emerald.
On the morning following a wet and stormy night three years ago, Mei had found her hiding between the many pots and plants in the little nursery downstairs. She must have snuck in just before the shop closed the night before, or at least so Mei had reasoned to herself. She remembered how Peach had been so awefully thin, and absolutely shaking with cold that morning. Mei had tried to give her some milk, but she wouldn't have any. She then warmed the milk up in a small bowl and placed it right in front of Peach, but not even then would she drink. It was first after Mei had left the room that Peach finally started to gulp down the warm liquid. Mei remembered how happy she felt standing with her back towards the door and listening to the little drinking sounds that Peach was making. For Mei it was love at first sight, but for Peach it took time to loose her shyness and warm up to Mei. Mei had thought the way she found Peach an amazing coincidence. For it just so happened to be very much the same way Mei had come to Erina, whom she now lived with, five years ago.

Before that, Mei had lived at the grand central orphanage of Jideba. She was sorry to say that she had few good memories from those days. The grown-ups were incredibly strict. They often yelled at the children, sometimes beat them, and hardly ever praised them. She remembered a lot of crying and screaming, and there was little or no freedom to leave the orphanage and go into the city. When Mei had asked the caretaker about her parents, she was simply told that a stranger had found her in a basket floating down the Panei River, and brought her to the orphanage. The caretaker didn't even look up from his journal and look at her when he answered her, so she didn't try to ask more questions. For the longest time, Mei had wanted to leave that place for good, but that was easier said than done. Doors were always locked and there was no way getting out of the courtyard into the busy streets outside. Still, maybe there was one way she could think of. Afterall, each month there was one day when a small group of childre were allowed out into the city park on an outing, but only the best behaving children were chosen to be part of that group. So Mei decided that no matter how long time it took, she would make it into that group, and make it out of those walls. And so, after many months of dutifully carrying out her chores and assisting the grown-ups with various tasks, Mei was finally chosen to be part of that exclusive little group. At last came the day of the outing, and as the little group walked down the busy streets towards the park, Mei managed to slip out of line and loose herself in the crowd just as they were crossing a noisy street. Once out of the crowd, she turned a corner and started to run. She ran and she ran and she ran, and she ran. Where to? She didn't know. It didn't matter. Anywhere was fine. Anywhere but here. Far away. Where she was, she didn't know. It was after all her first time out in the city by herself. All day she walked around searching for some kind of place to spend the night. It was already autumn, and the chilly evening wind bit and tore at her thin picnic dress as she walked along a long line of shops. One by one, they were closing. The new moon had already come out, and it was getting late. She was so hungry, with not a penny in her pocket for food. It was then, when she had almost given up all hope, that she reached a small nursery at the very end of the street. An old lady with large glasses was carrying inside the many plants and flowers that had been on display outside. She looked kind and gentle, Mei thought. Acting without thinking, Mei leapt over to one of the plant-filled trollies and crouched like a tiger cub behind the biggest plant she could find. When the old lady so came to wheel the trolley inside, Mei followed it as quickly as she could, and miracously somehow made it inside without being noticed. Terrified, she spent that night crouching between the many plants, and first when morning came did she finally fall asleeep on the cold stone-tiled floor. It was then, and like that, that the old lady had found Mei; fast asleep on the hard stone floor in a thin flowery dress. She had kindly given Mei warm food and a comfortable bed to rest in, and as Mei told her honestly about her escape and hopeless situation, the old lady even gave her the promise, that she could stay for as long as she'd like. It was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for Mei. Not used to kindness, she remember crying so hard it hurt. The days that followed that tearwet morning were the most beautiful and happy ones that she had ever known, filled with much smiles and many warm cups of herbal tea.
That was how Mei had first met Erina and come to help out in the little nursery downstairs during the day. And strangely enough, that was also how Peach had met Mei, almost exactly two years later.

Chapter Three – Magesa

The bustling market space boomed with life. Brimming carts, heavily laden with exotic fruits, fine clothes and rare goods lined the huge market square in the heart of Jeclahay, capitol of the south. The air was filling up with all kinds of tempting smells that would make even the driest of mouths run with water. Food stalls boasting a vast array of spicy hot and cold dishes lined the busy walkways. Each country of the continent was represented by their own local speciality, and of course, street boys at every corner shouting the special offers of their own food stalls. Spicy fish and rice, stewed meat and banana, baked chicken and pineapplepies, vegetable soups, beanpastes, grilled kebabs, cumin breadrolls and much more. Choices were many. And the sounds. Drums and flutes carried lively tunes that echoed between the tall buildingwalls that framed the vast market. Snaketamers, jugglers, dancers and performers fought with unbridled zest and energy for the attention and good patronage of the visiting crowd. This was the beating heart of the city. A place full of possibility. One could spend an entire day here, and it would not feel wasted. A place to explore the richness of the southern continent while soaking oneself in new impressions, ideas and limitless energy.

The market and the stalls were always changing, giving even the most frequent of local visitors a hard time keeping up with what was available where and at what price. They'd say that it was quite a feat should a stall survive for even a month in this place, for the fierce competition here would make even the most fiery of rat-races seem dull and friendly. Needless to say, pick-pockets, thieves and many shady figures of the city too gathered and thrived in this place.

Even this early in the morning, making one's way through the bustling crowds in a hurry was no easy feat, even for Magesa. With all the confidence and agility of an athletic young man born and raised in the heart of the city, he zigzagged across the humming space, tangoing gracefully between moving carts and ducking under any camels and donkeys blocking his path as he went along. After all, he had a job to do, and the sooner he'd finish, the sooner he'd be free to work on his project.

Finally, having left the vibrant market space behind, he slipped into a narrow side alley and made a dash for the equally busy harbour, somewhere ahead. The surrounding city landscape was a true maze of dark and narrow alleyways, one that Magesa knew only too well. Running errands for tailor Samin ever since he was little, he had learned the ways and the many habits of Jeclahay, little by little. To Magesa, Jeclahay was something like a living thing. It pulsed with energy. Breathed. Lived. It was his city, yet more than a city. His home and a friend. He had heard of other great cities in the north and east, that were supposed to be far more wealthy and organized than his own, yet the things he had heard about them didn't really impress him much. Sure, they might have more money, prettier streets and taller buildings, but Jeclahay was rich in so many other ways. Rich in culture, people and energy. Most of the people here were friendly and outgoing, easy to share good moments with and talk with about most anything. Sure the city could also be made better, but whatever it was, it was his home.

It wasn't long before he reached a small and worn down looking house. He knocked firmly on the door and took a step back as he waited.

Within seconds, an old man appeared in the doorway, holding a cane and a small pouch. In silence he eyed the young man in front of him carefully. He was of medium height and seemed to have noticeably well-developed shoulders and calves for someone his age. Probably someone whose spent his youth running errands around the city for somebody.

'Hello Sir. Here's the festival shirt you ordered from tailor Samin.' Magesa announced formally, and handed a neatly wrapped paper bundle to the old man. Upon having inspected the content, the man smiled satisfied and withdrew two large coins from the small pouch. He handed them to Magesa who thanked the man and quickly wrapped them into a small handkerchief and put it in his pocket. He was always careful when receiving payments on the street, seeing as curious bypassers were many. As much as he loved the vibrant energy and teeming life of his city, he just had to come to peace with that thieves were many and eyes everywhere.

Although Magesa would have liked to pass by the harbour on his way back and see the many visiting ships docked there, he knew better than to linger around with two largos in his pocket. He so made haste back to Samin in light and nimble steps, his dusty sandals barely making contact with the sandy pavement. By the time he finally made it back to Samin's little shop, his short dark curls were glistening with sweat from the exertion.

He habitually ducked under the drape-covered opening to the little shop that had been home to him his whole life. Samin was at his desk, at work on some garment, making careful stitches on its long collar. When the old tailor was working on something, he would notice nothing else, for such was the extent of his focus and love for quality. He used to tell Magesa: "Either do it well, or not at all. Do nothing half heartedly or halfway."

Magesa loved to stand sometimes and just watch him work, his thick rimmed spectacles so far down his lumpy nose that it was a wonder they didn't fall off completely. The old tailor also had the habit of breathing through his nose when he focused, and the soft whistle sound it brought had come to mean peace to Magesa.

Feeling relaxed and quiet again, Magesa walked up to Samin and withdrew the handkerchief, placing it on the desk, and only then did Samin seem notice Magesa. He looked up and smiled with genuine affection.

'Back so soon Magesa. Well thank you. That was the last order to be delivered today, hope it wasn't too difficult. I know the city is even busier than usual lately with the festival and all coming up. Feel free to go work on your project if you like. It's been a busy week, hasn't it? You've been amazing help, as always.'

Magesa nodded, smiled and received the praise without fuss. Finally he could do what he really wanted to do.

He so sat down at a small table in the corner of the shop and opened a large basket. Inside were long thin reeds he had collected by the river bank the evening before. He then took up a fistful of reeds and slowly began braiding them into shape. At the moment, all he could make was simple sandals, but he hoped to also be able to make some baskets and hats in time. It was a skill he had learned from Samin a few months ago.

At first he had felt completely lost and hopeless with such detailed handicraft, almost giving up trying all together, but Samin wouldn't let him.

“Oh, but it's hopeless.” Magesa would say when the long reeds formed a messy tangle of a knot, rather than a neat symmetric pattern. Samin would then place his gentle hand on Magesa's shoulder and tell him with a warm smile:

“Nothing's ever hopeless Magesa. Don't you ever let anybody make you believe that it is. It's just not straightforward, that's all. 'Hopeless' is one of those words it's better to forget you ever knew. Learning a new skill like this may not be straightforward at all, for sure, it takes time and dedication, but it's never hopeless.”

Magesa was happy he had taken Samin's advice to heart that time and stuck to the endeavour, for before long, he was surprising himself, making perfectly usable sandals. It's not that he loved making sandals or braiding reeds that much, it's just that he knew, that to survive and make a living in this world he needed a skill. He needed money. For Magesa had a dream. He wished to someday make it as crew on a large ship and see the world. Sure, he loved his city, but he was also curious and hungered for something more at times. Still, he would need to save up money for such a long journey, and also, he hoped to be able to buy land in a foreign country and open a guesthouse of some sort. He loved to meet new people and talk about all kinds of things, so he figured, running a guesthouse would be just perfect. Therefore, making sandals was for Magesa simply the very first step in his long term world-journey plan. Samin had kindly let Magesa have a basket with finished sandals on display next to the register for purchase. Although it wasn't that often, every once in a while a customer would come in and buy a pair together with some of Samin's garments. It wasn't a lot of money, but it was a start, and the feeling of earning his own money with something he had made with his own hands was simply unlike anything else he'd ever experienced. He had even thought about getting a job as a waiter at one of the city's many busy restaurants to speed things up a little, but for now, he was more than happy to be helping Samin out in anyway he could. After all, Samin was getting old, and would be having a hard time with nobody around to help him out. The waiter-job, sailor and guesthouse dream could surely wait a little a longer. There was no rush. Days were good, and besides, if he sailed off anytime soon, he knew he'd come to miss old Samin an awful lot. Just the thought gave him a lump in the stomach and made him feel sad. The old tailor and his little shop was his world, his home, and he felt that his place was here for now.

Such were the quiet thoughts of Magesa as he carefully braided out yet another pair of reed sandals to the soothing sound of Samin's soft whistle.

--------

Chapter Two – Ali

A long line of white creamliners drifted past at impressively fine turtle pace, way up there. Wherever they were going, they were in no rush getting there. And just as well, for neither was Ali. They were the nomads of the sky. He was a nomad of the earth. At least, that's how he felt much of the time.

In something like mild disbelief, he looked up at the pale blue sky through the dense canopy of the great cedar tree, hands folded behind his head. High above, seagulls soared and drifted playfully about in the sunny windstreams. He carefully eyed the winged creatures painting invisible circles on the perfect blue canvas of the clear spring sky. Floating on the wind with such effortless ease...however do they do it? It was one of many miracles he couldn't quite get his head around. And that was fine by him. After all, he didn't have to understand it all. Simply appreciating the many wonders around him felt like plenty. The only thing he felt confident that he truly understood, was the simple fact that he could understand very little of the miraculous workings of the natural world.

Lying on his back in the short spring-grass, he pulled his grey sheepskin hat down over his dark-brown eyes and closed them, trying to feel how it might be like being a bird on the wings.

....

He sighed deeply in satisfaction.

Now wouldn't that be something.

Slowly he opened his eyes and got to his feet, casually brushing off grass and dirt from his brown sheepskin vest. Leaning absent-mindedly on a shepherds crook, for a while he simply swayed gently with the wind. Part of him seemed to still be up there soaring side by side with the seagulls. He looked at one of the seagulls that had landed on the field, strutting around, sometimes pecking holes in the grass. God, what amazing posture it had. Such innate purpose and intent in every craning and turning of its long sleek neck. His back straightened instinctively in response.

Startled, the seagull suddenly takes to the air as a black and white dog is about to leap playfully at it.

Ali shook his head smiling and curved his hands around his mouth.

'Salaa-aam' Ali suddenly called with a high and clear voice that boomed across the vast, open field. 'Salaaaaaaam' he called again, setting the dog off at a dash towards him. In mere seconds it was at his feet wagging its long bushy black and white tail.

'Come here buddy.' Ali said with genuine affection, reaching out his hand to give the collie a thorough scratching behind its ears. Salaam was the name Ali had given it when they first met, more than five years ago. It was a word he really loved to yell out loud over the open field. It meant 'peace' in Ali's language, and he figured that maybe if he called for peace many enough times, then perhaps someday, it might just come for real. Maybe someday, peace would fill the heart of every person, every little town and village, land and city. He knew it was a silly thing to wish for, and perhaps only a fool's hope, but it was the honest and simple wish of his heart. For despite his young age, he knew that there was much trouble and unrest to be found beyond the peaceful hills of his home. Either way, just the simple act of calling out 'salaam' brought Ali himself much peace and joy. What's more, it seemed to make Salaam happy as well.

The two had first met when he was no more than an overgrown puppy. That was when Ali had first started to work as a shepherd, tending a small herd of a few dozen sheep for an old farmer. Before that, Ali had lived in the capital of Minfadlak, at a large public orphanage. He had never met his parents, and life at the orphanage had been anything but a happy one. He'd never forget the feeling of relief he felt when farmer Kamir agreed to take him in and gave him Salaam to help tend the herd. The two had hit it off from the very first wag and had been inseparable ever since. Kamir had told him that for as long as he'd be tending the herd, Salaam would be his dog. 'His dog..?' Ali had frowned in bewilderment at first. However could one own the life of another living creature? Now that was something he definitely couldn't get his head around. Salaam was absolutely not 'his dog'. He was his friend and companion. An equal which he just happened to be so fortunate to as be looking after in some ways. Sometimes when he visited the capital, he would hear how many people talked to their dogs, and feel very awkward. Often they talked to it as it it were a small child or some unintelligent creature. To Ali, animals were his friends and equal and much like the family he never had.

Watching Salaam eyeing him with a hungry stare and his long pink tongue dangling from his mouth, Ali knew it was time. Time for lunch, for the both of them. He withdrew a few strips of dried mutton from his backpack and fed them to the expecting Salaam. It was something he did with mixed feelings. He loved his sheep, yet he knew that some day, they might end up as the mutton in his hand. He made a silent vow to himself that he would never become a farmer for that very reason. No, Ali's dream was to become a doctor. Not for animals though, but for people. It seemed meaningful, and he had seen so many sick around the poor districts of Minfadlak. He wanted to help them get well, to make a difference with his life. But right now, the most meaningful thing to do it seemed was to get some food down into his growling belly. God was he starved. Ali took out a few slices of bread and a piece of aged hard cheese for himself. The two so sat under the old cedar, eating their lunch together like two best friends, both eyeing the lazy herd of sheep grazing away in the distance. Watching them as he chewed on the dry bread and cheese, he felt a pang of gratitude. After all, the milk that had made the cheese in his mouth was from them. The wool that clothed him and kept him warm, was from them. And in his room, was the most precious thing that he had: a grey woollen blanket. Even that was something he didn't feel he could own. It wasn't really his. It was just something he was blessed to be enjoying the good use of for the time being. Something he borrowed. Owning things simply just didn't make much sense to Ali. Maybe it was because of his upbringing as an orphan where he was allowed no possessions. It didn't matter though. He much liked it his way. Free as the bird. Nothing to bring. Nothing to leave behind.

Upon finishing his lunch, he took out a worn leather-bound book and opened it midway. It was one of the few things he with gratitude could think back on during his time at the orphanage; they had taught him to read. It was a religious book that he had come across in one of the public libraries in the city. He definitely wouldn't consider himself religious, yet he found many ideas and thoughts in the book to be stimulating, and above all, they reminded him not to take the simple things for granted. There was so much to be grateful for.

He took off his sheepskin hat, revealing a shock of short and straight black hair. The midday sun was getting hot, and sweat was trickling down his crooked nose. Kamir had said it resembled the beak of a small hawk, and that it was one of the things that had convinced him to take Ali in and entrust him with the herd.

"I knew you to be sharp and have a watchful nature." Those were his words the night Ali had arrived at the farm five years ago.

Ali unbuttoned his vest, revealing a dark-green cotton tunic. Taking a large sip of water from a leather water-skin, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It had been a good lunch and he felt refreshed. He ran his hand through his hair, appreciating the cool wind as it flowed through. Sometimes he imagined that the wind was welcoming him and ruffled his hair like an old friend or dear father. Even if the wind was cold, its candid touch could make him blush and feel warm at times. He much felt that he had his family all around him. His father, the sun. His mother, the earth. And Salaam, his best friend and companion. Could he ask for more?

Chapter One: Sam

The first few precious rays of morning sun filtered through the thin yellow curtains of the tiny bedroom. Playfully they danced on the tranquil face of a still sleeping somebody, illuminating a generous set of orange freckles. The rich yellow sunlight added somewhat of a fiery glow to an otherwise rather pale and plump face. The face belonged to a young woman – who by the looks of it – still appeared to be off somewhere in the wondrous land of dreams. With eyes still closed, she smiled peacefully at something only she could see. Her short red hair was sprawled out on the pillow, and gave much resemblance of a lion's mane.

The room was tiny and simply furnished. A low wooden bed, desk with chair and a small wardrobe. Walls and ceiling were all made out of solid dark wood, worn-looking and seemed quite old. The small window had been left ajar only by a small creak the night before, and the curtains fluttered ever so gently in the calm morning wind. On the desk was a half-burnt candle and a small, worn notebook. Nothing else. Bright yellow sunlight was flooding the whole room, and outside, birds were singing happily.

Slowly, the sleeping figure so began to stir. Little by little she opened her eyes, revealing a still dreamy pair of deep blue sky-spheres. Having climbed out of bed, she made her way over to the small wardrobe and reached for a brown pair of jeans and green woollen jumper. While dressing she suddenly becomes aware of a most welcoming smell that seems to be coming from the kitchen next door.

Surely, it couldn't be..?

Anxious to find out, she makes her way to the door in short, excited steps. Giving the little round metal doorknob a careful twist, she pulls the door open slowly while holding her breath. As she takes in the familiar scenery of the kitchen, her eyes shift from the fully set breakfast table, to the stout figure standing by the cooking stove, clutching a large iron fry pan in his hand, back towards her. She beams at the man as she realizes where the smell was coming from.

Just as she hoped.

Quiet like a mouse, she tiptoes over to him, and gives him a great big hug from behind;

'Good morning Alan.' She sings happily.

'Why Sam, you're up already? And here I was hoping to surprise you.' He smiles sheepishly, scratching his ear.

'Oh but Alan, surprise me you sure did.' She shook her head gently in awe, gesturing at the steaming tower of pancakes next to him. Pancakes were her favourite.

'But Alan, you shouldn't have. You really shouldn't. It must have taken you ages to make so many. And besides, aren't you normally on watch around this hour?'

He shrugged smilingly.

'I got Cathy to take the early morning watch today. After all, it's not every day that a young woman turns seventeen now is there? I wanted to make it special, and I know how you love pancakes. Happy birthday Sam.'

Sam shakes her head again, grinning as best as she can and moves in to give Alan another hug.

'Cathy will be back any minute now, so let's hurry up and get these pancakes on the table shall we?' 

And just as Sam has gotten the huge steaming pile of pancakes on the table, the front door swings open, and a sturdy-looking woman enters, carrying a leather satchel over her right shoulder.

'Why Sam, happy birthday girl. Did you sleep alright?'

'Thanks Catherine, never better!' Sam beams cheerfully.

Catherine nods contently and goes on to place her satchel on the table, taking out a small jar filled with something golden.

'Thought you might fancy a taste of ol' Johns summer honey. Passed by his cabin on my way back her, and mentioning how it's your birthday and all, he insisted I'd give you this.'

Catherine took a seat and handed the jar over to Sam. Sam smiled, and for a moment said nothing, cradling the little jar in her hands as if it were a precious gem.

'I know that you normally don't eat honey any more, seeing as you don't want to take it from the hard-working bees. But I also know how you used to love the taste of it more than anything when you were little and didn't mind such things.'

Sam smiled again and nodded slowly.

'Thanks Cathy. I'll be sure to go give John my thanks after breakfast. It's just too kind of him.'

'Well then...' Alan shot it and placed a steaming kettle on the table. '...Let's eat then. I'm starving!'

He took a large pancake from the top of the steaming tower, and Cathy followed suite. Sam too wasn't slow to help herself to a nice thick golden one, and looked around the table for a knife for the honey. Clearly starved, Alan munched away at his pancake as it was, while Catherine put on some mulberry jam on hers. Having finally gotten on a thin layer of honey, Sam rolled hers into a cone and took a small bite. Chewing thoughtfully, she suddenly froze and looked down, eyes watering. Alan was already downing his second and took little notice of what was going on on the opposite side of the table. It was Catherine who broke the slightly awkward silence, turning to Sam.

'Everything alright dear?'

For a moment, Sam said nothing, then she swallowed and began slowly:

'It's just too precious...'

'I haven't tasted anything like this in so so long. She gave a small smile which Cathy returned warmly.

'Well, I'm glad you like it.'

Sam smiled with her eyes and took another bite, savouring each moment.

For the rest of the breakfast, the three simply sat there in silence, enjoying pancakes covered with their favourite spread while pouring steaming hot tea and coffee into their mugs, mouths, and hearts. There was no need for words or idle talk. Comfortable in each other's company, an occasional recognizing nod or smile was plenty.

As Sam left the table that morning and returned to her room, her heart was filled with the simple joy of being alive and where she was, as well as who she was with.

And where was she?

In the middle of the land's greatest forest, in a small Cabin, with two forest rangers.

Having penned a few lines into her journal, as was her morning habit, she put on a light scarf and a warm jacket. Mornings were still chilly around this time of year, and she knew the wind would be cold where she was going. March was coming to an end, and soon would be spring. She couldn't wait. It was her favourite season, only next to autumn. But wait, winter was wonderful too, and summer somehow always special. Oh, she couldn't quite decide on one favourite. She loved them all. But even so, spring did have a special place in her heart, for many reasons.

Shutting the thick, wooden door of the cabin firmly behind her, she dropped down on one knee by a pile of firewood to tie her laces. She somehow preferred to it outside in fresh air and the light of the day. The boots were light brown, made out of leather, and full of cuts and marks, hinting at rough treatment by their owner. Swinging a dark brown leather satchel over her shoulder, she sat out on the narrow forest path leading away from the small cabin that she had always called home.

After a while she came to a small clearing with a large, old, craning willow. She pauses briefly, tilting her head towards the willow smiling. 'Seventeen years, huh?..'

She recalls what Alan once told her at this very spot, and can almost hear his calm, deep voice in her head:

«This is where I found you Sam. You were still asleep, wrapped only in a thick woollen blanket. The basket in which you lay sat between the roots of that old willow over there. I was on my way back from the early morning watch. There was frost on the ground that morning. But you were warm, and seemed ever so content in your sleep. I looked around for any signs of who might have left you there, but no luck, so I brought you back to the cabin, and the rest you know. I'll never forget that morning.»

Alan had taken her in and raised her like his own. Back when she was little, he worked in pair with another female forest ranger named Sarah, who had been like a mother to her. Sarah was quite a bit older than Alan, so as the years went by, the work became too physically demanding for her. She then moved into the capital and opened a small nursery instead, and Catherine so came to fill in her place. For the past decade or so, the three of them had been living together.

Sam looked at the craning old creature. Almost born under a tree. She smiled to herself playing with the idea. Well that sure explains a lot.

Continuing on on the narrow forest path she somehow becomes more and more aware of the profound beauty and richness that suddenly seems to be all around her.

The sky so clear. The forest path so soft and springy. Fresh and luminous emerald green shoots bursting out of every branch and twine. Trees and bushes that seemed so void of life just weeks ago. Budding flowers too now timidly creep out of their snug blankets of brown autumn leaves. Little specks of white and yellow here and there, soon everywhere, and vast patches of bright blue-star Scilla. Somehow, it's as if the air is a little clearer, the forest bed a little softer, colours and sounds, a little more vibrant and lush with life. Was the gentle chirping of the forest birds ever this amazing? Was the world always like this? She blushed in genuine appreciation of it all.

Whatever the case was, she simply just felt incredibly blessed to be part of it all.

After a little while, she passed a small pine covered hill, and the path opened up to a wide open field of tall yellow grass. In the very centre of the field sat a tall watch tower made out of massive lumber. A long wooden ladder connected the ground to the simple square watch house some 40 feet above. Sam made her way over to the outpost and began climbing the ladder. As she reached the top, she finds Alan half-hidden behind a pair of massive binoculars, gazing out on the surrounding landscape. The pale blue, windswept sky offered the perfect canvas for the green and brown spring-fusion of the Meridian forest below. Sam really loves it up here. Not just the view itself, somehow, there was a sense of peace and freedom, a feeling of lightness and release from everything, that was unlike anything else. Maybe that's why the birds seem so awfully cheerful at times? She smiled at the thought.

She greeted Alan with a simple nod, which went unnoticed. He was used to her coming here, and appeared to be busy scribbling down notes into a journal. Sam sat down on a small stool, and for some time, just gazed idly out on the vast forest below. This was the country's largest and oldest forest. Many of the trees were ancient, not to mention massive. There were pines, spruces, cottonwoods, birches, oaks, chestnuts and many many more. The forest rangers looked after the forest, the trees. And in turn, the trees were looking after the earth. So in some way, by looking after the trees, she and her little family were looking after the earth as a whole. She liked that.

She went on to open her satchel and withdrew a small notebook and a long thin black charcoal pencil. Pressing the charcoal gently down on a blank page, she started to make a rough sketch of the woodland below. It was a simple thing, and she was no Picasso for sure, but it brought her peace. Although Catherine had given her a small set of colour pencils some years ago, she somehow preferred the simple contrasts of black to white. A drawing would never come close to the real thing anyway, so might as well make it stand apart from the real full colour thing by keeping it black and white, she thought. Having finished up her drawing and exchanged a few words with Alan, she began to make her way down the ladder. Around half-way down, a strong gust of wind blew in from the east, making her clutch the ladder tightly for support. She smiled in appreciation. 'You're so alive.' She whispered quietly to herself, shaking her head in mild admiration as she continued downwards.

It was time to give old John her thanks. His little house was just behind that small pine-covered hill she had passed on her way here.

Having reached his house, she wasn't surprised to find him outside on a bench, with a book in one hand, and a steaming cup of coffee in the other. He appeared completely lost in whatever it was he was reading.

'Good day John! How are are you?' She beamed at him.

'Why Sam, I didn't see you there.' He looked up slightly puzzled at the sudden appearance.

'Oh but am I glad you're here. A very happy birthday to you girl. Catherine just told me this morning.'

'Well thank you! Yes, she said so, and also thank you so much for the precious jar of honey. It was really much too kind of you.'

'Well but I'm glad you liked it.'

'Liked it? I love it. I really do. It's the most wonderful thing I've tasted in so long. We all enjoyed it with pancakes this morning. Ah, that reminds me. Here, I made a honey-filled pancake-roll for you.' She opened up her satchel and withdrew a small brown paper bag and handed it to John.

'Well aren't you a sweetheart.' He gave a broad smile, revealing several golden teeth. It was no secret that old John had a soft spot for sweets, and perhaps not surprising either, seeing as bee-keeping had been his lifelong profession.

'This will go great with my coffee.' He winked and grinned so widely his golden teeth showed.

Sam gave a happy little nod in response.

'What are you reading John?'

'Oh, it's an old thing, I've read it too many times already, but still, it's one of my favourite stories to read in spring. Ever heard of “The Secret Garden?”

'Sure! It's one of my favourite stories too. Alan used to read a children version of it to me when I was little.'

'Well there you go.' He took a large sip of his coffee.

Sam smiled.

'Well...I better get going soon. I still got one more stop to make before lunch, and I don't want your coffee to be getting cold while you're busy talking to me. Thanks again for the honey John. It made me really happy you know.'

'Ah, busy as usual I see. Oh but you're very much welcome girl. And likewise, thank you for the pancake. That was awfully thoughtful of you.'

Nodding in quiet recognition, Sam says goodbye to John and wishes him a good day. She then sets back out on the narrow forest path, in long happy strides. After all, the next stop would be the one she had been looking forward to most of all.

The sun was now so high in the sky that the jacket was beginning to feel more like a burden than a friend. She couldn't wait to get it off. Yet what was this? Her feet felt so light. Whatever was this feeling?

Passing busy birds and dazzling beds of Scilla, she finally reached her special spot; the clearing with the craning willow. She recalled the conversation with John about “The Secret Garden”. This place was definitely something like that for her as well. A secret place, hidden away from the rest of the world, where she could feel peaceful and happy. She used to come here with Sarah back when she was just a kid. The willow was craning so far over to one side, that two people could comfortably sit next to each other on its thick gnarled trunk. Bright yellow buttercups were peaking out from amidst the low grass all around, and just a stone-throw away a Fieldfare was searching diligently for food. Sarah and she would sometimes just sit there for hours, talking about anything and everything. Sometimes Sarah would tell stories, or talk about life in the big capital of Heartlantis. And was it a sunny day, they would sit there and have a small private picnic under the calm swaying of the willow's long twines and branches, the soothing sound of rustling leaves filling the air. That was exactly what she was going to do right now.

She really loved sitting on the trunk of living creature, a living tree. Even if Sarah wasn't here any more, she'd never feel alone when she sat there, palms down, feeling the rough bark of dear friend. She opened up her satchel and took out another brown paper bag. Inside was an apple and two pancake rolls, one with honey, the other with mulberry jam. She normally wouldn't eat sweets for lunch, but today, she felt she could make an exception.

As she ate, she remembered something Sarah once told her about people in the capital. Her warm and gentle voice carried the words easily and flowed through her like a welcome breeze on a warm summer's day.

«Many people in the capital are quite different from Alan and I, and so they see things differently too. For instance, when they see a tree, they don't see a conscious living being, or a friend, rather, they might see a resource, something that can be used for their own benefit and convenience. Trees and whole forests are so planted, only to be cut down and sold as building material and other things.»

Sam couldn't imagine a whole forest being cut down. The mere thought gave her goosebumps. Trees were her friends. The forest her home. The earth her mother. Where would she – or anyone else for that matter – be without them? How could nature ever function without trees? And how would people ever get by without a healthy nature, a healthy earth to rely on? Looking after the forest and treating trees with respect was really the only thing that made sense to Sam.

She looked at two sparrows busy making a nest in a nearby oak and took a large bite of her apple. She smiled to herself, slightly blushing as she held it up in front of her. 'This too came from a tree.' She shook her head in quiet disbelief.

'And to think that I may be here, alive and well on a day like this amongst so much good. God, Am I blessed.'

Such were her quiet thoughts as a mild breeze flowed through her hair in friendly greeting. To Sam there was nothing like it. Sitting close to a dear friend while savouring the many fruits of nature under the open sky on a sunny spring day. Could one feel any richer?

もっとも大事なものが・・・

ありえない魔法に満ちている、最高に美しくあるこの世界に、もっとも大事なものが残念ながら足りていません。

そのものが不足していることによって、色んな混乱や困難が訪れることになっています。

それは戦争や環境汚染であったり、疫病や流行りの病気であったり、コロナバイラスのこともその一つの現れに過ぎない。

不足しているこの「大事なもの」さえあれば、さえ増やすことできれば、世界はなんて豊かなところになるんだろう。しかも、そんな世界に暮らしている者はなんて幸せだろう。

では、私が考えているこの「もっとも大事なもの」ってなんでしょう。

とにかく、それが少しでも増えて行くように、私はそれをテーマと扱った小説を書くことにしました。確かに、現代だと、もっとも伝わりやすくて迫力があるのは動画に決まっている。だから、いつかは映画化にもしたいと思っています。

この本のテーマやメッセージにも、タイトルにも、私が考えている「もっとも大事なもの」はよく出て来ます。それは具体的に何だかはここでは教えませんが、これからはその本の始まりを少しずつここで載せていきたいと思っています。それで、ゆっくりと読んでいきながら、その「もの」って何だかは皆さん自身に考えてもらいたいです。コメントやご感想はもちろん、大歓迎です。（一応、執筆言語は英語にしました）。

私の期待としては、世界の人々がこの小説のストーリを知ることによって、その「大事なもの」が自然に増えていき、現代の様々な問題の解決につながることだ。

では、口うるさい説明になってしまったが、このストリーのプロローグは次のように。

お読みにどうぞ～

Prologue

It happened at night.

Four small baskets,

with four sleeping babies,

were abandoned,

by four sobbing mothers.

One was left under a tree.

Another in the care of an orphanage.

A third was sent flouting down a quiet river.

And the forth, on the doorsteps of poor tailor.

It happened at night.

Then came morning...

...and so our story begins.

（次のChapter Oneはもう載せてあるから、興味のある方は気楽にどうぞ～）

Dan Gibsonの気に入れの曲集

Dan Gibsonって聞いたことありますか？

カナダの、大自然を愛していた、調和のとってもある音楽曲集の製作に人生を捧げた人だよ。もうお亡くなりになってしまいましたが、彼の気持ちと調和豊かな曲集がたくさん残っています。

で、以下のものはお勧めだよ。

Spring Awakening https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NaVBGVqf1XM

前向きで嬉しい気持ちいっぱい。春が来たとはね。

Rhythms of the Sea https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SCNjR5Govws

穏やかで落ち着いた潮騒の響き。

Sleeping under the Stars https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-KJ1EnC1EV4

寝入れの前にはいいかもしれないよ。とにかく、テンションの高い一日の末には最高だ。

Just wanted to share :-)