A wind chime rings against the sky.

Ting—. Ting—. Ting—.

The countryside, where I came down after being crushed by the heat of the world.

The wind blows, the rice ripens green, and even the sun, occasionally peeking out from behind thick clouds—nothing is not restless, and nothing can be defined.

When the humidity made everything damp, I hated the heat flowing over my skin, longing for the cool air conditioner.

But I have no right to feel that way.

If I get heatstroke, that might be a luxury in its own way, and even if it gets cool, I'll just spend the whole time laying out useless thoughts.