Autumn and winter of thinking

I have never let up on most of the sunny days of November in Zhoushan. I have met the fleeting sunrise in the blur of my eyes. I have met the upright beam of light in the hanging clouds. I have met the lonely but persistent warm beacon in the random place where I am not sure where I want to run. All of these have entered my vision on the way of running around Lanyue Lake and the way I fight for myself. I don't know where everything in time has gone, but I know they're still there somewhere, shining brightly.

Red maple leaves and yellow ginkgo show the autumn of Zhoushan. With the sound of stepping on the fallen leaves, I shuttled between the teaching building, the library and the canteen over and over again, standing on the quiet terrace with an open view and watching the sunset fall, I have a sense of quiet happiness and a feeling of relief in busyness. Also, I grew up in such silence.

Then the city slowly ushered in the long winter. Holding the hot baked sweet potatoes in the palm of my hand and putting myself in the campus at night full of mist, when the hot air muddled my glasses, I will feel it again—the sense of sadness, doubt, uncertainty that appear in the process of growth. Am I unwilling to give up? Or confused? Or something else? I just confront it and encourage myself to move forward, just like the coming hopeful spring.

Ah, is it time to speed up the pace? Another half of the new year has passed, and this is only the second winter when I embraced Zhoushan. In this sea city, I constantly enrich myself, and what I can do is to cherish all the time here and I did so.

Picture in campus