Childhood memory
This is a bumpy bicycle backseat.
It's a waist that short hands can't hold.
This is a skirt that can only be pulled.
I often ask children some questions.
Why is the sky so blue?
Why is the cloud so white?
Why do birds fly?
Why does the paper windmill turn in your hand?
But, father.
His answer is always so simple.
Because the sky reflects the sea.
Because white clouds are smoke from cooking stoves.
Because birds have wings.
Because windmills have wheels.
I don't really believe it.
grow up
Father is getting thinner and thinner in my eyes.
The textbook also gives a different answer from my father.
But ah
I like dad's answer best.
Because it was childhood.
Childhood is like the scenery on both sides of a bicycle.
Go back slowly.
Increasingly blurred
It's not just scenery and memories.
My father is back.
Ah, it says I want to cry. After all, when I was a child, I came from the back seat of my father's Phoenix bike. I think I haven't seen him for a long time. Children who are away from home are really sad.