Green Frost Covers Old Beijing

It feels so strange to return to this familiar place again. The weeds at the entrance of the village grew green and yellow one after another, burying the sword spirit wielded in childhood. The lonely little earthen house was waiting for me at the end of the path. The wooden door was ajar and there was no light. A little bit of fluorescent light rose up in the courtyard, seeming to welcome me. Give a last dance to everything that happens here. Walk over. Sitting on the threshold. Looking towards the courtyard overgrown with weeds and flying fireflies. My father once sat here and looked at me. Grandpa also sat here and looked at his father. The road to sinking into consciousness is long. It's like walking on an endless trail. The wind whipped the grass blades into my face, carrying the smell of loess.