The erosivity of autumn rain surprised me, a tree, a rushing rock.
Their bones are slowly eroding and their blades are getting deeper and deeper.
Gradually eliminated. I can't bear to see those withered flowers, grass and slowly unfolding butterflies.
The cold flame is still stirring, and the road is indented into the depths of time and space inch by inch.
The concrete flat was a little tilted in the rain, so I had to loosen the throttle and repeatedly doubt the direction.
I am afraid of winding roads, but the autumn imposed on the wind makes the leaves stir.
I know that after walking through this ordinary land, everything will fall into a confused beginning, and I have to keep going.
Even if the rain seeps into the bones, the distant forest is still prosperous.