During the time when the dazzling afterglow of the night turns into morning dew on the green leaves and forms round droplets, it is the time when the night owls who stayed up all night fall asleep and just before early risers wake up.
I am listening to jazz on the radio in a car driven by my father. If you ask whether it is morning or night, I would answer that it is already morning, but I am still lingering in the remnants of the night, looking outside the window with a sleepy head. My father glanced at me and slowly operated the car’s power window. I wonder if he smiled faintly? I couldn’t see my father’s expression well. The car window is slowly closing. A cold wind blows down from my hair, and I blinked three times reflexively. My eyes felt a little dry. Did my father drive all night, or did he take a nap somewhere? My father is concentrating on driving while looking ahead. I just woke up a little while ago and am sitting in the passenger seat. I stuck my face out of the open window like a dog and breathed in the outside air. The cold morning air comes in through the window and replaces the slightly stuffy air inside the car. My awakened self and my father are heading from an unknown town to a desired town. I can hear trumpet phrases with a slightly large sound coming from the car radio. Ah, it’s a morning that makes me want to drink coffee. I sneezed in the morning mist because of the dazzling morning sun. We laughed at each other because of this sudden strange sneeze. In the running car, old jazz is playing. The phrases that sound like trumpet’s slightly tarnished gold are pleasant to my ears. In the clear blue morning, white mist rises, and there is slightly moist green grass. The bumpy black asphalt road will take us anywhere on this planet, no matter how far it is. I suddenly remembered something someone said: “If you’re not careful, this road you’re standing on will take you to a place you’ve never been before and have no recollection of.” The car is running. We are still silent with each other. We are enjoying and savoring this comfortably quiet space we share together. What am I…? What should I say? I am traveling with my father. We are both traveling freely along the way. Although we don’t have a clear destination in mind, I think that a journey with a clear destination is quite boring. Does this journey have a purpose? When I think back on it, it doesn’t seem to be clear at all. In this quiet morning sun, when I sneezed unintentionally and thought that I wanted to drink coffee… That might already be the purpose of my journey with my father. The car carrying us rolls its tires and moves forward. It’s good to listen to the radio at the beginning of each day. Especially jazz is exceptional. Now, the trumpet of the morning sun is seeping into our day.