The Remaining Warmth Sends Mountains and Rivers

After my mother left, a gulf of life and death separated us forever. The aroma of food wafting from the kitchen in the past, the reminder to add clothes when the weather was cold, and the warmth of her hand gently touching my forehead, are all fixed in memories that can never be touched again. In the long years that followed, I faced all the trivial matters in life alone. No one discussed the difficulties I encountered, and I could no longer tell her my joys and sorrows immediately. As spring goes and autumn comes, traveling across the mountains and rivers, every plant and tree in the world, fireworks, morning and dusk, will always remind me of her. Although she is far away, the tenderness and courage she left to me have never dissipated, turning into a ray of residual warmth that will accompany me year after year. This is a story written for my mother. It contains long thoughts and also records every day when I live a good life with her expectations.