We’ve been lived a happy, unromantic but carefree life. What are left in our mind are extended lane, undisturbed courtyard and the eaves under the blue sky. The doves, staying on or flying over the eaves, are in our memory. Even in the bitter cold winter, the misted morning, in the town and the country as well, was brought to a scroll of poetry. Parents and children made their own handicrafts. We’re aroused of harmonious life of neighborhood, when crowing and barking were heard, deep lane in the spring drizzle seen, and daybreak haggler of flowers nearby. We could hear resounding “grinding scissors and kitchen knife” hawking dialects, clanging wooden beat of bean curd vendor across the street in early at dawn, sometimes, we were curious to be an onlooker of what was happening to our neighbor. Whether in the lane, or in the courtyard, could we see varied handiworks including all aspects of our life; more assured was our unpretending emotion, treasure of love as well as meeting and parting, all in delightedness and sorrow of pure heart. Pitifully, these are fading past, living only in sigh.
Today, we’re all “online”, busy in life and work. None of us is not hysterical about physical enjoyments for fear of doom, and extravagancy of what are in our possession, as if nobody is willing to be “offline” when he is tired of this kind of life. Traffic jam, strange neighbors, fragile colleagues, GMO, food additives, thick haze and those fellows wearing a great variety of respirators in the fog, the disappeared city skyline, blue sky overhead, less heard of bird chirping, more aircrafts roaring over our head, just to name a few, all of these prevent us from remembering what are precious in our memory, let alone thinking of them. Life a transient, impermanent and obvious journey, so is our fading past.