Translate it truthfully. Play on time. Like a flower blooming and falling quietly. In the spring season. On an autumn day. In every moment of life. Years ago, she farmed on the island. Read it in sunny days or rainy days. Day and night. Pick rubble and sow seeds; read a book and drink a cup of tea. Once, the kitchen was her altar, and the study was her liberation. Several borders of land were born, sweat dripped down to the soil, and green buds sprouted. Spring, summer, autumn and winter are like the coming of time, and the intrusion of impermanence; about the land, about food, about settling down, about travelers, about the decline of the body, about life and life. She once farmed on the island.
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