Fable of Early Summer

An ordinary dusk, an old path, a gap in the fence. I walked sideways through the gap and walked into a lawn dyed golden by the setting sun. Under the old tree, I met a barefoot boy - his white shirt was slightly wrinkled, and he was holding a green apple in his hand, but he refused to bite it. "If I bite into it, it's just an apple. Sweet, or astringent. And then summer is over." In this moment stretched by the sunset, we talked about apples and choices, why the mirror couldn't reflect the boy's face, and how a butterfly helped a dandelion make a decision. Those words were as light as flying catkins, but they lingered in my heart for a long time. This is a fable about "possibility". The green apple is the choice that has not yet happened, the mirror refuses to reflect the face that has not yet been written, and the barefoot boy is all the people who are not bound by the story. It's getting dark. The boy walked towards the depths of the lawn, his white shirt like a fading photo. Green apples, mirrors, and a few dandelion catkins were left on the grass—were they left behind, or were they left on purpose? "The Fable of Early Summer" is a letter written to all those who "have not yet taken the first bite of the apple." It makes no sense and only offers a moment to breathe. At that moment, summer had not yet been defined, everything was still complete, and everything was still possible.