Cherish the resources and love our land. Step on the same land under the same sky and feel the different rhythms. I caress the moist soil. It is my mother’s wrinkled face. It is the tears left by my mother. I look at it. The increasingly hazy sky is the sadness of the sky. It is the sadness of the world. We used to live under the blue sky and now we live under the haze (Okay, I can’t make it up anymore)