Sometimes, I would silently look at the west, where there is a round sun like the naan that herders carry with them, where the wind blows all year round, as if it is peeling off a person's skin, there are heavy sand dunes, and young men often sit under the moonlight at night and sing, the tunes may be rough or lingering. At that time, I could not understand the naked love in it, I just looked at the red cheeks of the sisters and stirred the blazing bonfire in boredom. Until that person appears.