Art of Mind

About This Novel

She is a late-autumn persimmon leaf on the loess plains of her hometown. All the green pigment has faded, and it is as thin and red as an invitation to life. It's the square stone mill. The grinding hole looks at me with deep eyes, as if telling the story of the hot earth rotating under the sun and moon. It was the spinning wheel that made a squeaking sound, teasing my sore wandering heart. The sun-facing concave outline of the mountain plain called Nanwa Village always wants to hold me in her simple, humble and gentle arms.

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