Harsyra

Pink Indian Paintbrush in a mountain meadow

June 17th, 2025

sky wash

Butterfly Bush - Barbara Winrow

British , b. 1950s

04.12-24

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“An Unbroken Current”

When the girl whispered the spell, a gentle morning light wrapped around her once more. The next moment she found herself standing on the present-day shore of Senjō-gahama. A soft breeze skimmed the lake, and clusters of candelabra primulas swayed in silence.

There it was still—an old, rust-eaten gear, poised like a lone piece of sculpture. From the nearby trail she caught scraps of hikers’ conversation.

“This area was turned into a national park during the war. Officially it was for conservation, but rumor says the army was doing something with the lake. That gear is supposed to be a leftover from all that.”

Their voices drifted away on the wind. The girl glanced at the gear— and a burst of light flooded her vision. For an instant a strange scene poured into her mind:

Blinding gears, lined up in mist, turning slowly. Unknown machines wreathed in vapor rising from underground. Thick steel cables snaking into the forest. A vast black silhouette floating on the lake.

Was it built to seal the ancient battle? Or to begin it anew? Was it only ninety years ago, or from an age when gods still walked the land? She could no longer tell—

Now a father and child’s voices replaced the fading talk.

“One-two-six-nine—primu-la!” “Right—this is the highest lake in Japan.” “And it almost never freezes, even in winter—Ke-gon—”

Their words melted into the wind, smaller and smaller. The girl murmured to herself:

“1269… hi-fu-mi—almost a rhyme. A lake that won’t freeze… Kegon Falls? Is that where these waters go?”

An unfrozen lake, an unfrozen waterfall— Perhaps tears from that long-ago struggle are still flowing into this water from somewhere.

The primulas, like a thousand gentle hands, swayed as if to say yes to every unspoken question.

The battle’s memory, the healing hands— were they dream or illusion?

Whatever the shape, a quiet kindness still lives in this place.

The primulas seemed to bow in greeting. The girl smiled softly.