Grandpa loved flowers, especially fallen flowers.
At first, I couldn't understand it. When I finally understood it, I had lost forever the opportunity to watch the falling flowers with him with a considerate heart.
In the late autumn of 1980, my grandfather lost his last son to the influenza that spread in the village. From then on, my grandfather became silent. He often stood alone on the stone steps in front of the house, his eyes gradually becoming confused and empty, drifting in the yard. He could not find the focus for a while. Only when the jujube flowers fell to his feet would a hint of pain appear in his eyes.