The Wind Carries the Clouds and Shadows Across the World

The morning mist on the long street hides unspoken longings, and the unstretched eyebrows are condensed under the lamp shadow in the deep alley. Some people are opening old letters when the rain hits the banana trees, and the sound of the tide over the years can be heard between the lines; some people are packing their bags on the snow-covered plum branches, and the corners of their clothes are still stained by the frost marks on the distant mountains. As the four seasons pass, there is a unique morning and dusk behind each window, and each encounter hides its unknown origin and destination, like stars scattered on the canvas of the night, each twinkling and each silent.