The coffee at Maple Kite House is still as rich and elegant as it was a long time ago. The books displayed on the wooden bookshelf next to the swing chair changed again.
Looking at the silver wind chimes occasionally reminds people of some dialogues from the past.
The girl in front of the bar seemed to be busy with something.
No intention to appreciate the past.
The old-fashioned gramophone was narrating unhurriedly.
"Ding-ding-ding-ding-"
The wind chimes are ringing.
Is it the wind?
The door of Maple Kite slowly opened.
Time passes again.
The sound of the wind is like a singing heron. Looking back, the echo is in vain.