Author: Bauhinia
In August, paulownia leaves turn yellow.
Memory, like the light in the gap of enough paper when I was a child, began to flicker.
Missing, a smile extending in my father's stubble.
……
When this smile touches my heart, I will cry.
……
Yellow paulownia leaves began to fall.
This season, staring at the roof of the old house
It seems that many stories wake up in my heart.
Like the shadow of childhood, it ran out of the straw pile at the head of the village.
Run out of the shadow of the street gate
Run out of the Woods in the evening.
The road to my father's grave
Stepping on the barren, submerged in the grass.
So my heart became my eyes.
The leaves of paulownia in August are yellow.
stare
The pain that can never be turned over on that page
The path around my father's cemetery
It's with me now.
Miss Steele.
A season or
one century
Standing in the yard of the old house in the dark, staring at the broken door.
Waiting for my father in the fallen leaves of paulownia trees.
I can no longer see practicality and intimacy.
Miss along the barren road of pain
Stepping on the yellow leaves falling freely
Qiu Guang, wisp by wisp.