The wilderness in early autumn
In the early autumn wilderness, the moonlight is as clear as flowing water. Tall artemisia grass, flying with white pollen, ripens bunches of seeds. The misty water vapor wafted, and the dew on the grass was sweet and melancholy. The rice paddies sing in unison, and the moonlight emerges from the cracks in the clouds. The breeze blows across the pond, and tiny ripples ripple on the surface of the water. There was a dark area in my mind that was being illuminated by something, and it was like a light green smoke, full of human solemnity. White autumn rain fell. The fields were shrouded in a cold mist. A few sparrows galloped through the cracks of the rain.
Seems to be for no reason, and there is often a sense of powerlessness, a trance, not knowing what to say and do.
