I always stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of the university library, and I think of the observation deck in my childhood home - the nineteen-story height can catch the morning and dusk of the city. When the morning fog spreads over the skyscrapers in the distance, the light between the buildings is like a newly awakened galaxy;
As dusk falls, the light strips woven by the traffic flow slowly, and the sheets my mother hangs to dry flutter gently in the evening breeze, forming a soft painting with the orange and purple clouds on the horizon.
Later, I dragged my suitcase and walked into another city. The lights in the classroom, the windows in the study room, and the neon lights on the streets late at night all became new scenery.
But every time dusk spreads across the field of vision, I always think of that observation deck: it turns out that growth is from gazing at the window view to moving towards a broader world, and the morning and dusk wrapped in the warmth of home when I was young have already become the coordinates of my heart. No matter how far I go, I can always look back and see the most stable light, gently spreading through the folds of time.
Purpose: Rediscover the road to childhood
