I suddenly wake up and write.
I remember the steep mountains.
The wind blows from the mountain.
And waves on the surface of the pond.
I kick my way through the mountains of memory.
A mountain that lives in my heart
I touch a few waterfalls.
And poisonous plants growing in the shade.
On the pale red rhododendrons
A drop of silver is rhetoric.
I want to watch the birds in the shade
Until the day I die.
I turn to the left and dodge the people.
I run up the path, hesitating for a moment.
There is a path that no man has trod before.
I see the gentle white snow.
p.s. The photos were taken on April 17, 2022.