We can't keep the morning sun, nor can we catch the breeze. The white clouds will always drift away and the flowers will eventually wither. In the busy traffic, we give our bodies to the noisy city, but we want to return our souls to the quiet fields. In the end, we pursue it but find nothing. The moment we look back, we find that the morning sun will always rise and the breeze will blow in our faces.
Intention: reality, experience, perception