"In the sparse shadows of the apricot blossoms, I played the flute until dawn." What I want to write is just a piece of ancient time captured from a bookshelf that has been stained with dust for a long time.
There is no time in the mountains, and there is no year in the cold weather. One day several years later, Bining woke up from her dream and suddenly remembered an ordinary rainy day when she lived at the foot of the mountain. The raindrops made a "tapping" sound under the damaged eaves. Song's mother sat under the eaves to choose vegetables. The younger brother ran home covered in mud. The uncle was driving cattle behind while scolding the younger brother. The rhubarb at the door was still screaming happily... Just thinking about it felt as familiar as yesterday. The sky was still bright, just like yesterday, but those past events dissipated into the air like dust particles dancing in the sunlight. She finally realized that those stories were in the past.