The snow line spreads over the growth rings of the birch forest, sealing the cracks from twenty years ago in the silvery white background. This is a private narrative in the name of the country, about unopened slipknots, unopened sunflower seeds, and red scarves disappearing in the snow.
The figure in a Soviet-style military uniform once stopped among the sunflower fields. The copper buckle of the accordion reflected the molten gold of the setting sun. He embroidered the star map of Orion into a coarse cloth pocket and taught the younger generations to "follow the bright stars and you will not get lost." The slipknot tied not only the sunflower seeds, but also the tacit understanding of "see you later". But the typeface of "Pravda" finally cut through the snow, the ideological divide made the keys of the piano shatter, and the residual warmth of the red scarf swept over the back of the hand has not yet dissipated, turning around and turning into a figure in the birch forest that will never look back.
Twenty years later, the descendants walked back to their hometown through the snow, and the granite in front of the monument still retained the temperature it had been pressed back then. The sunflower seeds in the coarse cloth bag have long been dried, but the star map between the shell patterns is still clear - he took the untied hemp rope knot and searched for the answer in the forest where the snow fell silently: is it the torrent of time that pushes people towards separation, or is it the unspoken "reluctance" that has already tied a dead knot in the slipknot?
"Between the branches of the birch forest, the falling snow is the whisper of the past, and the sound of the wind is also the unfinished conversation."
"It's up to you to comment on the merits and demerits of right and wrong."
Intention: None yet