I'm a college student now.
I walk every day to a higher education institution in an ancient city in northern Jiangsu.
There are so many trees here, maybe more than there are people here. If you want to go out for something, you must pass through several avenues lined with plane trees.
I often rush through it with a restless heart, not caring about the scenery on both sides. Every time I am about to reach the end, I always feel like someone is calling from behind: Xiao Qi... Xiao Qi... The voice is not loud but it is heard clearly. I turned around cautiously, only to find there was nothing. It's just those trees that J accurately calls "two-year-old hanging trees". They cross their branches and leaves and whisper in the sky, whirling and falling leaves, extending to the other end. On that side, everything is unknown, like a dark hole.
At that time, I was standing in the wind, and my long hair was blown around, like the messy little hair that I had when I first entered school, with a gentle waterweed growing out of it.