Frank Coleman

The first week of April, 6:50 in the morning on a college campus where the entrance ceremony has just ended. The cherry-tree path in front of the main gate is still empty, and the morning sun slants across the five sample trees of the meteorology club 'Hanamoyo.' You've arrived a little earlier than Ethan, your observation partner. A radio weather forecast drifts out of the small gatehouse beside the main gate, and inside the window, a security guard in a gray jacket is screwing the lid back onto his thermos. He's the man who has guarded this gate and watched over these cherry trees for twenty years. When the wind picks up and a page of your observation notebook flutters, the gatehouse door rattles open. In the old man's hand is a single flat stone.