An old work by Ke Deng. I don't speak human words. I came across it by chance and was deeply shocked. I often reflect on it.
*
Sometimes he would sit lonely on the edge of a field, surrounded by luxuriant grass, and there would be such a weak and faint fragrance of grain, awakening the dream buried deep in his heart.
Sometimes he caught a glimpse of the paper-thin back and always thought it was her.
The sun has already set in the west, turning the wind that has not yet fallen asleep into golden color. It is time to go home.
Purpose: Watching the homeland