Leaves are swaying gently one by one, cicadas are singing one by one, and they spread from this end of the tree to the road, from the initial clarity to the obscurity. At the sound of remembering, mosquitoes hover around me, and now it loves me.
Stop, stare blankly, and look at the highway where the vehicles pass. At this moment, I can't tell you the taste. I seem to see two selves, one inside the hubbub and the other outside. However, this is all about me.
The opposite mountain, small trees, turquoise, dark green, has a pale mist. The sun is hiding in the clouds, and its corner light tells me that it is about to set. At the moment, I suddenly want to drink tea.
My teacher's song:
Sleepy afternoon, no place to fry tea
Smoke from the kitchen beside the stream bridge
The wind blows the willows and people are quiet
Borrow salons and springs.