Yasashii Kaze

A gentle breeze sweeps across a quiet park on an ordinary day. Several children are playing, each absorbed in their own world: one swings on a swing set, another chases a ball, a third sits alone on a bench. The wind, soft and warm, brushes against their skin, rustles the leaves, and carries the distant sound of laughter. For a moment, the children pause, as if sensing something unseen. The breeze seems to hold a memory, a whisper of something familiar yet forgotten, connecting them to a shared, fleeting experience. As the wind continues its course, the children return to their play, but the subtle touch of the air lingers, leaving a trace of calm and a hint of melancholy. The park remains unchanged, yet the gentle wind has woven a brief, silent story among its visitors.