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    　　Painting，somersaulting，foldingtheworkintoanairplane.

    　　Inthecountryside，therearerowsofgreentrees，

    　　Theleavesgrowwell，

    　　Flowersandplantsgrowfreely，manyofthemarenotnamed，

    　　Theregrowcicadasinsu

    　　Theriveroftenoverflows，andtherainyseasonisalwayswarm，

    　　Myfriendsliketocatchfish，

    　　Autumnisamaturedaywithyellowandredleaves

    　　It‘slikemissinginafairytale，coveringtheearthgently.

    　　Therearetracesofbicyclesrunningovertheramp，

    　　Therearefirefliesinautumn，andtherearecountlessstars.

    　　DespitetheTVandradio，

    　　Adultsprefertositoutsideandchat.

    　　Yes，thisiswhatIamdescribingnow.ThereasonwhyIstillwanttorecallitisthatitisbeingabandonedbythetimes.

    　　Thosesimplethingsthataregreen，fresh，livelyandcasual，anddonotneedliteratureandarttorepeat，aregraduallyreplacedbysomecomplicatedandboringthings，

    　　Maybememoriesoftenforgetthecontentofbadmood，

    　　Butouroriginalhappiness，indeed

    　　Thetruthisbasedonthat

    　　Itisaprimitivevillagefullofbirdsandflowers.

    　　Ifitcanalsobecopiedandrestored，

    　　I‘mnotgoingtowritethistotrytosatirize.

    　　Childrenwillnotlosethehappinessofimagination，

    　　Withasharpbrush，tocarvethosewhohavenofeelings

    　　Thereisnoso-calledartofcolor，

    　　Carsshuttlethroughcrowdedcities，

    　　Life，butabandontheoriginalfreedom.）