Agricultural College Sketch

 　　When the grain is stored away and the hay is stacked, winter quietly arrives in the farmhouse courtyard.

　　At this time, weapons are shelved, horses graze freely, and people seem to relax as well. The only thing still steadfastly holding its post is the broom, which washes the courtyard's face every day.

　　A gentle winter wind blows, and the few remaining leaves on the tall ginkgo tree in the courtyard flutter down like golden saucers, looking back reluctantly before helplessly returning to the earth's embrace. The daughters then have a new toy: the two sisters gather the fan-shaped yellow leaves, as if they were treasures. They make miniature fans, rubbing them in their little hands; or they tie several leaves into flower shapes and toss them into the air like shuttlecocks; or they pluck the leaf stems and hold them in their palms to play riddles. If they guess correctly, they giggle happily; if they guess incorrectly, they do the same. It's incredible that they find such utterly boring things so enjoyable and tireless; perhaps it's related to their childlike wonder.

　　The roses by the courtyard wall, sheltered by the wall, still have green leaves, but upon closer inspection, they seem to have lost the vibrancy of spring and summer, their blossoms no longer ostentatious, appearing hesitant and unassuming.

　　The poultry seem oblivious to the changing seasons; the large speckled rooster, as usual, leads a flock of brightly dressed female companions, clucking and scratching around in search of food. The large black dog lies peacefully in the sunny spot by the gate, eyes half-closed, calmly accepting the warmth of the winter sun. The kitten, seemingly with ulterior motives, crouched at the base of the wall, its eyes fixed on the flock of sparrows atop it. Perhaps it was daydreaming, waiting for one of the sparrows to accidentally land in front of it… While the children played their inexplicable games in the yard, my wife was sewing insoles for them, stitch by stitch, carefully and meticulously, silently, as if trying to weave her tender maternal love into the warm golden sunlight. Suddenly, pigeons from the rooftop landed beside her, white and silvery-gray, cooing softly, craning their necks and peeking at the fallen grains of rice. The sparrows on the wall seized the opportunity to swoop down and steal…

　　At that moment, leaning against the ginkgo tree, an indescribable feeling welled up inside me, like the soft, warm winter sunlight. Could this feeling be happiness? I had once thought it was something far away.

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