That year, late autumn, night,
Under the weak light, the willow tree still stands there. Under the light, in the cold wind, the scattered residual leaves left on the weak willow branches reflect the light green and orange light due to the light, and produce the rhythm of light like shadows and appearances due to the wind; and this seems beautiful. A wonderful picture, but the inadvertent presence of dark spots on the leaves brings flaws to this supposedly beautiful picture. Just like this memory, it is erratic and occasionally stays in the mind. Just when we want to recall its beauty, the injury of the memory forcefully brings us back to reality.
Later, he was thinking about her. The willow tree remains the same, time remains the same, and can we still be the same as we were back then?