In the quiet afternoon, the sun shines through the sparse clouds and falls in front of the ancient windows. I sat quietly in the corner of the years, holding a cup of light tea in my hand, closing my eyes and listening. The wind blew gently, carrying distant whispers across thousands of mountains and rivers, and seemed to be bringing me an unread letter.
"I hear letters coming from the wind", this is not just a poetic murmur, it is the gentlest dialogue between me and the world. The wind is mixed with the salty smell of the sea, the freshness of the mountains, and the noise and tranquility of the distant city. Every wisp of wind is a messenger. They shuttle through the gaps in time, quietly weaving stories from far away into songs and sending them to my ears.
In this silence, I seem to be able to hear relatives in the distance whispering care and longing;
Intention: growth