In the blink of an eye, this mysterious dark power was shattered into pieces by the sunlight, and the remnants turned into something as thin and light as cicada wings, and then turned into a white blur in the strong sunlight.
Black mountains with white sand and exposed black ridges are as black as coal and night.
The dry sand river meanders and disappears into the mountain pass canyon in the distance.
The sun shines brightly, the lonely planet itself hanging in the endless sky above this desolate land.
In February, there was only a small piece of gray ice that seemed to be melting but not melting in the East Lake Pond, like broken silver left behind.
In July, the clouds all over the sky are like white flames, burning freely, like waves in the sea, surging and breaking, like smoke curling up in the chimney, drifting in the wind, formless, like the distinct fruits of clematis, dyeing the blue sky into strange shapes, so that it finally no longer has to bear the loneliness of being empty.
In December, there is no snow in the winter. It is the withered yellow wilderness, the herds of cattle and sheep, the burnt wasteland as black as coal, the winding stream under the cliff head, and the sparkling light of the sun on the water.
I am farming at the foot of Tianshan Mountain with two seventy-year-old men, my grandma and grandpa.
Staying in my hometown always brings warmth and peace to my heart.
Concept: nature, mystery, love, healing, return to nature