In the northwest, the wind is the recorder of time.
It remembers the all-devouring sandstorm fifteen years ago, and also remembers how fifteen years later, an insomniac photographer and a taciturn planter recalled the past one by one in the rose garden.
He saved his life, stained roses with his blood; he hid his school badge for fifteen years, and his back was all in his camera.
The wind and sand in the Gobi howled as before. This time, we finally heard each other's prayers.
Tips:
1. There are no supporting roles, only the protagonists each other, mainly reminiscing about the past
2. Practice, it is not perfect, please don't enter if you are concerned about it.
Concept: Look at the camera, the rose is listening to me