No one can describe his face, but his footsteps can be seen everywhere.
When the rising sun dispersed the remaining curtain of the night, and when the setting sun was swallowed up by the hazy horizon, he walked leisurely. Neither light nor darkness could change the pace of his progress.
When the bud quietly blooms its beautiful petals in the spring breeze, when the baby reports to the world with a loud cry in the delivery room, he walks quietly, and laughter cannot stop his progress. Rhythm.
When the withered yellow leaves were swaying in the cold wind, and when the dying old man glanced around with nostalgia, he still walked calmly and silently, and his sighs could not make him stop.
It can flow through your fingers.
Slide under your feet.
It can also fly past your vision and your thoughts
He is a magical and ruthless carving knife, creating all kinds of miracles between heaven and earth. He can split boulders into dust, carve seedlings into trees, and turn deserts into cities and gardens. Of course, he can also turn a prosperous city into a desolate ruin, make shiny metals lose their luster, and make sharp knives covered with green embroidery. He carved the wrinkles on the old man's forehead and painted the blush on the girl's face. The reproduction of life and the movement of the world are carefully directed by him.
He tore off the calendars on time, turning the future into the present, the present into the past, and the past into distant history.
He is generous, you don’t have to beg, he always gives you what is yours.
He is fair, and he will treat you equally regardless of whether you have a mountain of power, a millionaire, or a commoner with a breeze on your sleeves. No one can take him as his own, even if you spend a lot of money, he will never give away a second more.
If you cherish him, he will grow a green shade behind you and bear heavy fruits.
If you ignore him, he will turn into smoke and disappear without a trace, leaving you regretful in the end.
Sometimes, a brief moment will become eternity, this is because he left his footprints deeply in people's hearts.
Sometimes, the long years become a moment, because the thick fog and wind and sand submerged his footprints.
Gorky once praised him with a very pertinent sentence: "The fastest and slowest in the world, the longest and shortest, the most ordinary and precious, the most overlooked and most fascinating. What he regrets is time.
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