“A swallow has come.” In the middle of winter, a woman returns after hearing about the debut of a colleague with whom she used to write novels. She hears her husband, who is at home, casually say, “I saw a swallow.” She doesn't believe him. Swallows come in the spring, and it's still winter here. But that night, she hears it too. A chirping sound from somewhere outside the window. In the direction of the sound, tinged with purple, she slowly walks.