Magnum opus

  To Angel, who grew sick of my political posts.

  Snowflakes floating down, down, on the dark-green meadow ahead. Bits of smoke came rising from the Mumin's house. The sun has already set, and the sky has turned dark blue. It's so quiet, now that even the birds are cozying up in their nests.

  We both look at the valley, our faces frozen. I don't know about him, but I'm staring with a queer mixture of awe and melancholy. Funny. Then I look at him. He is so still.

  'You're silent,' I say.

  'Hm?'

  'You're silent.'

  'Heh, amn't I.'

  I'm not sure where I'm looking at, either his face or the valley. After a few more seconds of staring silently, I speak again.

  'So you're really going, huh?'

  'Ay, I am.'

  'Huh.'

  Quiet again.

  '...'

  '...'

  'You s-sure you're leaving? Everything's set? Mumin knows?'

  'Of course he does. He's already asleep, actually.'

  'Huh. ...'

  'Hm?'

  'Snufkin, why do you have to leave every winter? Look, the meadow is covered with such a beautiful white blanket... It's so peaceful over here, why don't you stay?'

  'Because I need to keep the birds company.'

  I chuckle. Then I rest my head on his shoulder.

  'I'm sorry. I can't really explain why I'm going, y'know? It's a force of nature. But I'll be back, I promise.'

  'Sigh... "Still returns the old tune you have left far behind, and the road's still expanding, it leads you to wander..."'

  'Hehe...'

  'Y'know what I think?' I suddenly say. 'I think I know why you have to go every winter!'

  'Oh?' He says, in tranquil curiosity. 'Pray tell.'

  'You're actually the Groke!'

  'Wh-what?!'

  'Ay! You tell us you "have to go" every winter, but you actually transform into the Groke!'

  'Haha! No, I'm not the Groke, remember when Little My was saved from the fire by her? Though it is a funny idea to toy with.'

  'Huh...'

  '...'

  We both gaze at the meadows again. The skies have turned darker, the smoke has disappeared altogether, and the stars shine clearly. It will be a full moon in three days.

  'Y'know, I've heard some people say you actually smoke some plants you find around the valley. I've even heard someone say we're all figments of your hallucinations.'

  'Sigh... People say the craziest things, you know. You won't believe what I've heard around the valley.'

  'Oh really? Like what?'

  'Some said I'm an anarchist. This may be true, in a sense, but I don't think so. I'd best not tell you more. But what I can tell you is that I've learned a lot through such sayings.'

  'How so?'

  'You will understand it all in due time.'

  'When's that?'

  'In due time.'

  'Ugh...'

  Silence again. Wind began blowing. It's so cold...

  'Snufkin?'

  'Hm?'

  'Why can't we all be like you?'

  'Like me? How like me?'

  'Free.'

  'Ah... Simple. You just don't want to.'

  'Of course we do! It will be so wonderful. We'll love it, I'm sure we shall.'

  'Really? Tell me, do you really want to be like me?'

  '...'

  'Hm?'

  '...Not really, no.'

  'See? But I'm sure someday you will. In due time.'

  'Hehe.'

  Whoosh... The wind is blowing.

  I smile as Snufkin starts playing his harmonica again.

An Cat Dubh, 14.2.09

  Unum diem...