The firewood gate is ajar, and a small courtyard is surrounded by a bamboo fence. He was a passer-by who broke in unexpectedly, but was stopped by a bowl of hot porridge. Children learning calligraphy, neighbors delivering food, bird's nests under the eaves, heat on the stove... Days are like vines in the corner of the courtyard, quietly crawling over time. There are no earth-shattering legends, only the dullness of getting up in the morning and returning home at dusk, and the tenderness hidden in the porridge bowl and between the words. When the unfamiliar footprints gradually turn into familiar figures, I understand that the most touching stories have always been in the ordinary alleys, in the cup of hot tea you handed me, and on the fence I helped you mend - it turns out that a stable life means that someone stays with you to watch the fireworks in this world, turning life into poetry.
Intent: gentleness and tenacity