Snow is falling outside the window, cooking wine and listening to the snow falling. Looking back at the people and things in the past, they are nothing but clouds of the past. Today, the people of yesterday have long since disappeared. On this long road of rivers and lakes, some people have come and some have left. Finally, I drink this glass of wine alone. It is slightly bitter and slightly sweet. When the snow comes, will the person returning from walking in the snow be the person who made an appointment to enjoy the snow together? Or maybe no one will come.