In the winter in Beijing, there is still snow on the ground, the gray-black bare branches are skewed in the clear sky, and there are one or two kites floating in the distance, which is a kind of surprise and sadness to me.

The kite season in my hometown is in spring and February. If you hear the rustling of the wind wheel, you can look up and see a light black crab kite or a tender blue centipede kite. There is also the lonely tile kite, which has no wind wheel and flies very low, looking lonely and haggard and pitiful. But at this time, the willows on the ground have sprouted, and the early mountain peaches are also blooming, echoing the children's decorations in the sky, blending into the gentleness of spring. Where am I now? The harsh winter is still chilling on all sides, but the long-lost spring of my long-lost hometown is rippling in the sky.