From a hillside from a forest by a soft hand is picked up this leaf-shaped heart. Perhaps it has no deep meaning but a mark hit hy frost. This reminds me of a dusk, a shade of forest from a small mouth that wanted to say but stopped again from my shoulder. The afterglow that was gently blown away and now comes back to heart especially heavy. I may deny this piece of maple leaf deny it, like rejecting a kind of intimacy. However henceforth whenever the wind blows I always cannot help turning my head listening to the helpless tremble on your twigs.