The Sleeper Sees You 100 Days Ago

The wind that blows here is hard to understand.

Winding mountain valleys. Cool, dense mist. Mud squishing underfoot.

Parting the curtain of shy leaves, following the deer trails down along the stream, one can find a simple smile.

And when a traveler, finally reaching the village, grumbles while shaking off their boots and looks up,

Breezedon.

they will see the name of my hometown, crookedly carved into a walnut sign.

Perhaps there might be a traveler curious about its meaning. If so, it’s best to quietly prepare to leave this village. Because the moment you ask, you won’t like what happens.