Contours of Twilight

As the sun sets and the city finishes its role for the day, the building falls asleep quietly, as if blending into the darkness. That wall, which reflected people's activities during the daytime, now simply stands in silence. However, amidst that silence, a ray of light suddenly appears — it is a flickering reflection reflected on the metal wall, illuminated by car lights. As if dusk were to draw its outline at the end, it certainly exists there, even though it is ephemeral.

This streak of light is not just a reflection; it is an afterglow that heralds the end of the day, a fragment of memory, and also a boundary of time leading into the future. In December, in the midst of the hustle and bustle of Shiwasu, I suddenly stopped and thought about time that had passed. In that space where relief and silence, anxiety and hope are mixed, people look at the contours of twilight and quietly ask questions in the depths of their hearts.

The flickering lines drawn by the light are reverberations of our memories, and may be the very outline of the heart we feel at the end of the year.