That autumn, the wind messed up my hair. The fragrance of the flowers melted into my blood, and I knew they were tulips. Looking up, you are still standing there, with the miserable red maple leaves as the background, and the fragrance of flowers is still in the air...

The prosperous camphor trees block the sun, However, a faint light still shines in. Beside the feet is its shadow, which is like an unknown painting. Swaying, fluttering.

Is it an illusion? The little girl was looking at the shade of the tree on the opposite side like me, like another me...