I am waiting for spring alone, waiting for the beauty of spring, waiting for the joy of spring, waiting for the endless life of spring, waiting for the resurrection of all things in spring. Today I am waiting for autumn, waiting for autumn to send me into my season. In this recurring autumn, I ask myself if I still remember those things in autumn, let "return come back", let "overnight", let "mountains upon mountains" become history. Can I let the accompanying breeze - the golden willow on the riverside, droop her gentle catkins again, and put her green catkins full of trees into my mind, her wind catkins, floating in the air, I frowned and said, you are so lucky.
Why are you still bursting with power in your life in this coming autumn?
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
