revisit the past in the present
the town I used to live, though a quiet place far from cities and mountains, was always a familiar land. its name had faded into legend, but its spirit lingered like an old man still remembering his past days.
the road leading back to this town was lined with ancient trees and stones that seemed to whisper stories of the once-bustiful sunsets. these are not just roads; they're memories, the voices of lost loved ones, the echoes of a father’s old face.
remembering the old father's face, i often found myself sitting by the window, watching the sunset with a sense of time that felt like an eternity. his eyes were warm and golden, the air soft and clear—a world he once knew, now forgotten.
the竹林小径 was always a quiet spot where people would gather for picnics or share stories. i remember one day when i heard someone playing a game on the swings in the evening. that had turned into something deeper—someone’s heart breaking.
the land itself was alive with its own lore, too. the fields were lined with plowed stubbles and stubble bags from the previous year, yet the earth still held stories to share—a tale of family life through the seasons.
when i stood at the bamboo pole, watching the sun set over a field of wildflowers, that wasn’t just beauty; it was a story. the bees were working hard in their hives, the birds chirping in song—sounds that seemed alive and alive, too.
the dirt road beside me was lined with poles set into the earth. i remember driving through there one day, and when we arrived at the end, my mother turned her head up and smiled wider than a grave. that smile echoed through the village like the sound of a forgotten child clucking to sleep.
i often felt a deep sense of duty—helping those around me, no matter what they did or how difficult it was. i worked on my siblings' beds as a young kid, the same tasks that had been done every evening for years. i remember when we picked the rice from the field—the earth hummed beneath the rhythmic crunch of our hands.
the soil around us was always fertile, yet some days felt like a failure. i watched my mother plow the land with her hands in a way she never did before—more precise and careful than ever. that was a change, but it wasn’t something I wanted to forget.
the grass on the road was often damp, but that was because of all the workers who kept the fields dry through the winter. when the sun came up, i saw a silvery blanket of light stretching from one end of the field to the other—a promise we both knew would be hard to keep alive.
i always thought about those who had left behind my family—those who were gone for miles and miles. i often heard the voices of distant friends and family, their faces as soft as the ones that once stood in my childhood home. but sometimes, they wouldn’t even know where we were anymore—a feeling that was hard to escape.
the earth itself was a place of wonder, too. its texture felt like something made by man, yet it had always been there—to come and go, to grow and shrink as the seasons changed.
now, when i look at this land—a landscape of trees, dirt, and soil—the same landscape that I used to call home, but with a different face—i see things that are both familiar and new. old memories, old emotions, old hopes—all living in this space like they’ve been there since forever.
the bamboo pole above me was still standing tall, its roots reaching into the earth beneath it. i often looked at it, seeing it as both a guardian of the land and a reminder of the bonds that hold us together—a bond of care, love, and resilience.
i wonder how far this journey will take me. will I ever return to my childhood home? or leave behind what’s gone before? these questions gnaw at my heart like seeds waiting for light to break through them.
the sun always shines on the land, its rays spreading across the fields and roads. i look up every morning, hoping it won’t be too bad—just another day in a world that feels familiar. but when I think about the place, I see something more than just a field: a story, a hope, a lesson.
the wind blows through the trees and carries with it the scent of earth and soil. i feel the earth beneath my foot, the warmth of the soil making our feet warmer each day. but even that doesn’t extinguish the sense of connection we have to the land itself—without which I would not find peace in this world.
the sun rises every morning, its rays painting the sky with colors and shapes as it does so. i imagine the beauty of the fields as they stretch out before me—beautiful, full of life, full of stories.
i stand at the bamboo pole, my breath escaping my throat. I look up again, wondering how long this journey will take. but I know that there will be times when it seems like it’s never ending—times when I wonder if I’ll ever return to my childhood home—or leave behind what’s gone before.
the earth is still a place to visit, even though it has changed. its colors have changed, its sounds have changed, but the connection between me and it hasn’t changed. it still feels warm to touch, just as it did when I was a child—just as it does now, when I think about the person beside whom my parents always talked.
the sun sets over the fields at night, and I look up again. there’s a quiet peace in the sky, with the sounds of birds chirping and the soft rustle of leaves beneath my feet. but even that doesn’t extinguish the sense of belonging we all share—without which life would be too hard for any of us to handle.
the bamboo pole above me is still standing tall. i look at it again, seeing it as both a guardian of the land and a reminder of the bonds that hold us together—a bond of care, love, and resilience.
i will always remember that day when I saw my father’s face so golden that it seemed to shimmer like gold through the moonlit sky. that smile was more than just memories; it was more than just family—it was more than just a story.
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