Many friends say we shouldn't stand here. In fact, we know this better than anyone. Our home is on the mountain, in the dark virgin forest. And we actually stand here, standing on the roadside of these two lanes, which is undoubtedly a kind of degeneration. Our companions are all exposed and playing with cool clouds. What about us? Our only decoration, as you can see, is a puff of smoke.
Yes, our fate has been arranged. In this city full of cars and chimneys, our existence is just a sad ornament. But you can save your sympathy, because this fate is actually our own choice ―― otherwise, we don't have to grow green leaves frequently in spring and give shade in summer. The sacred cause is always painful, but only this kind of pain can give us depth.
As night falls, the whole city is full of complicated strings and hurried flutes, all red lights and green wine. And we are in silence, we are in the dark, we are in the loneliness that is not understood. However, we still try to grit our teeth until the flag of the morning glow, Ran Ran, rises, and we stand in a row to pay tribute ―― in any case, someone in our city must meet the sun! If no one else greets us, we will be responsible for welcoming the light.
At this time, perhaps an early child came over and greedily breathed the fresh air. This is our proudest moment. Yes, maybe all people have long been accustomed to filth, but we still stubbornly create a sense of freshness that is not cherished.
Maybe we are happiest when it rains. The news that the rain brought to our old friends brought us back to the carefree old forest in our imagination. We cried in the rain, and we always loved life there ―― even though we gave it up.
Standing in the dust of the city, we are a sad and happy tree. -Zhang Xiaofeng's "Street Trees"