The air in April is a bit humid, which is not my favorite season. Far, far away outside the window, there is a large expanse of blue, and further back there is a small village called Kapok. The Kapok Village in my memory has green rice fields, clear and cold rivers, and the restless roar of cicadas in summer. Kapok Village records my most beautiful childhood. Every time I think of it, there is always a surge of sweetness in my heart. However, sometimes there is a tearing pain in a certain place in my heart. . .