At the End of the Road, Leaves Fall in Midsummer

I often imagine that the high-spirited young man can produce a prosperous brocade and shining stars from the tip of his pen. The name spreads far and wide, and the story is known to every household. I am just a mediocre person among thousands of sentient beings. Perhaps the pain I have experienced is also indifferent and boring, just like the transparent sea water held in my hands. But this wave of water covered my mouth and nose, trying to drag me into the abyss. In the middle of summer, they followed me on my journey. Use the remaining memories to tear open the dust, trace the future, and go to the end of the road covered with fallen leaves. The setting sun melts gold, the clouds glow like fish scales, and the sunset blurs the newly built red walls. The red maples are floating in front of me, and the colorful windmills are whirling amidst laughter and laughter. I sang to the sunset like this: Fallen leaves are the dim seal of the past in the gap of time. Windmills and ears of wheat create waves, and the remaining warmth creates a clear light. My friends, my lovers, where are you going?