The snow flakes rustled, falling into people's arms, and the accumulation was already half knee-deep. My mother trudged through the snow, one foot deep and one foot shallow, rushing towards the ground.
The moonlight was boundless, and I couldn't see the snow on my mother's hair clearly. Everything was reflecting silver light, whether it was the tears on my face, or the snow in the air, the flying light, or the still light. My mother seemed to be shaped into a silver statue in it. In such a huge silver, she drifted away, like a fairy about to ascend, free from all the hardships of the world. She was infinitely small, but yet so huge.
I should have remembered all this, in fact, I should have remembered all this, but in the still time, the pale moon only left a line of footprints, drawing a silver edge, buried deep in the snow...
Intention: After tears there are still tears
