Farewell, Prince

This was once a land of free breathing. Rice fields, canals, ponds, vegetable gardens, and houses in front and behind form a system of their own between morning and dusk. In the spring, the rice seedlings break through the soil, in the summer night the drums sound like the tide, in the deep autumn there are thousands of heavy rice waves, in the winter solstice the water is cold and the grass dries up - the four seasons go back and forth, and they are contented. This is the territory of many tiny creatures. They reproduce, fight, form alliances, and migrate, maintaining an invisible balance through their own birth and death. No one bends down to record, their joys and sorrows are like ripples on the water, starting without sound and returning without trace.