Namjamo

The first time I saw green velvet was in the cold air on the mountain flowstone beach. That touch of blue is like a fragment accidentally falling from the sky, or it seems to have sucked in the loneliness and coldness of the entire plateau, and then spit it out faintly. It is between the gravel and the remaining snow, so thin, yet so proudly open. People call it "mountain peony", which is really unfair to it. Peony is the wealth of the world and needs fertile soil and diligent care; green velvet is a hermit between heaven and earth, its roots tightly grasping the barren gravel, and its stems and leaves are covered with a shallow layer of down, like a thin coat to resist the bitter cold. The petals are as thin as cicada wings, showing a dreamy, inimitable blue-purple color through light, and the silk-like luster trembles slightly with the mountain wind. It doesn't please anyone, it just completes its life quietly. I always feel that it is less like a flower and more like a lucid dream. Under the thin air and strong ultraviolet rays, it defies the harsh laws of nature with stunning beauty. This kind of beauty has a decisive meaning - short-lived, gorgeous, and cannot be transplanted. You can't take it down the mountain, it only belongs to that lonely and noble snow line. Every bloom is a gentle inquiry into the limits of life.