Winter is here. In this lazy season, it is easy for people to be filled with ubiquitous longing. It is as warm as the leaves on the tree that are stubborn and unwilling to grow old, waiting, hoping, and refusing to return to their roots. Blurred, distant, invisible. Where are the leaves? No matter how high you raise your head, you can't find it. So I lowered my head and searched diligently. Please be more serious, can you hear me? Who is laughing in the tree? Dirty glasses dirty our sight and even more dirty our future. The road is not always under our feet.