After Retirement, I Lived My Life into Poetry

At the age of fifty-five, Haitong retired. Instead of withering on the sofa, she spent half her life savings and bought a villa with a yard in a third-tier city. She brought her father and mother, who had been divorced for 12 years, to live with her, and added a housekeeping robot called "Xiao Tuan Yuan". They grow vegetables and raise chickens in the yard, make wine and play the piano under the grape trellis. Wait for the loquats to ripen in spring, and harvest a osmanthus tree in autumn. A family of four, plus a big rooster that is more impressive than the father, spent their days stumbling, talking and laughing under one roof. But life is not all fireworks. During the first family RV trip, her mother shot Ruan by the Erhai Lake, and her father shielded her from the dazzling sunshine on Cangshan Mountain; in a teahouse in Chengdu, the seventy-eight-year-old father held back the most beautiful love words in his life; under the moonlight of Gulangyu Island, he waited for twelve years to say "I'm sorry"; the tears of Sailimu Lake, the nine suns of Bayinbuluke, the morning mist of Kanas - every scenery is like a mirror, reflecting the love that has never really disappeared. This is not a story about retirement. This is a story about starting over. It tells you: In the second half of your life, you can still plant trees, make wine, and drive on the road, and you can still have your heart beat, blush, and hold back the hand that has been loosened for many years. Life is like poetry, not because it goes smoothly, but because you finally learn to live it like poetry.