It is said that a long time ago,
Snow is a pure white angel falling from the sky. It will melt its body when others reach out to save it. Its soul cannot be polluted no matter how turbid it is.
The wind, pursuing freedom, will mercilessly tear off all the shackles that bind itself. It possesses the absolute domineering power of a strong man to realize his dream. It will mercilessly blow away all the light snow surrounding itself. But I don't know when or where I will suddenly regret it?
The distant, sun-shined existence is steady and warm, but, just like its name, it seems to be beyond reach, unable to find its way back to the other side, lost on the road, and the snow falling on a sunny day has become a phantom in dreams.