I heard something twittering on the balcony.

Walking on my tiptoe, I reached the window, through which I spotted a turtle dove standing on the stainless-steel-made railing, with a sprig in its beak. Barely had I observed it attentively when it hastily fled away, leaving behind a fuzzy silhouette.

I was leaning on the windowsill, looking down, when a ball of white captivated me, which I instantly recognized as peach blossoms. Bathed in radiant sunlight, they stretched their exquisite bodies in all directions. The balmy breeze gently swayed the flowers, carrying the scent they exuded wherever it passed. Eventually here came the spring. As I was about to return to my room, my eyes rested on a half-finished bird nest that lay on the board put on the railings.

It was unbelievable that the dove was planning to build a nest on our balcony. Yet this was the case. What’s more, I witnessed two doves erecting their lovely home together. Before long, a complete nest came out.

I could see in the mild twilight, a tiny nest lying steadily behind the huge flower pots, and an adorable dove perching on the nest. The setting sun cast its silky beams on this little cute creature through the verdant plants in the pots, resembling a warm hand patting tenderly. This tranquil scene was set off by the distant golden horizon, which formed the most enchanting landscape in the world. I could picture that under its little body, eggs were being warmed up, and new life was being brewed.

But we all know that good times do not last long, which I grasped on that drizzly evening when the dove had gone away and had not returned.

I stared at the empty nest vacantly, a sense of loss welling up in my heart. There lay the sole egg placidly, reflecting the cold light which the moon shed on the earth. Why didn’t the dove return? Maybe, I unintentionally frightened it, or, it had found a superior habitat. But, did it desert its cherished egg? On this fairly chilly rainy night, where could it go? Would it be shivering all over in the freezing wind? As the moonlight suffused the ground, I perceived that, never would I know the answer.

I leaned on the windowsill, overlooking the swaying flowers. I could hear raindrops knocking the canopy, composing a rumpled melody agitating my thoughts. I could see them trickling down the eaves, descending, sinking into puddles, feebly splattering a spray of droplets. Also I could hear the moaning wind dashing through the alley, wildly rattling loose windows and doors. I could see it wobbling the leaves furiously, severing them from branches and tugging them down. But, in the meantime, I could see the blossoms that the tree threw up in the air, being hit by the rain and being swung by the wind, while they kept emanating aroma that wafted all around. I could see the myriad scattered petals which fell on the moist tarmac, all colors draining rapidly, yet somehow, they were peculiarly appealing with the lamplight flickering in dewdrops.

It suddenly occurred to me that, unlike what I considered before, what was called spring, was not a picture in a particular style. It not only meant arrival and growth, but also meant departure and wilting to some extent.

So the spring is not all about a couple of turtle doves who are busy constructing a cozy neat twiggy nest where the new life will be brought, nor about the pale pink blossoms that bloom wherever you behold, adorning the corner of the bright blue sky. The essence of the spring lies in the persistence that the doves possess, even if they get so close to human beings and lose one of the only two eggs. It lies in the patience with which the dove squats in its nest unceasingly, awaiting the arrival of the baby, no matter the icy drizzle and the roaring gale. It lies in the optimism which encourages the blossoms to bloom vigorously in the frigid sprinkle. It lies in the devotion of the blossoms as they make the world transfigured despite the adversity they are confronted with.

I lingered on the balcony, hearkening wind and rain, dismay dissipating gradually. And here came the spring. I could sense that, distinctly.

The bell is about to ring. The new year is in sight.

Time flies as we grow and mature, leaving naivety behind. No sooner have we relived the past year in detail than we face the coming year hurriedly. Lay down the heavy burden, repack the travelling bag, take our initial dream, step forward readily and firmly.

It’s said those who have received compliments should be rather careful, for other’s acclaim may block the consciousness of weakness, which surely leads to failure. Yet by no means shall we belittle ourselves, since nobody will have confidence in us unless we are confident. Owning a distinct understanding of oneself, cultivating the better part, remedying what have been done that turns out a mistake, are ways to adjust our mentality.

When we gaze at the vast, dark night sky, sparsely-arranged stars hang high, whispering about what they have just witnessed on this tiny, lonely, but vigorous cerulean planet, such as a large amount of teenagers burning the midnight oil, waiting for that extraordinary moment, after which they may become an adult, or may bare his or her heart to someone else, or, may just sigh with the feeling that it seems something in life, which is hard to be aware of, has vanished silently and drastically. Whatever they see, the sparkling stars keep extending their best wishes to whom they have not known and may never know. The stars, the glinting stars, the stars that split the profound night sky, for how long will we still be able to look up at you?

When we overlook the pure white snowfield, accumulated snowflakes lie serenely, mirroring the warm, golden light that streetlamps cast, illumining the bottom of passers-by’s hearts, which originally filled with some annoying things, like working overtime without gaining anything, or getting into a conflict with someone he or she considers dearest, or, biting, frigid wind blowing right into cheek, as if thousands of sharp knives are pricking the skin. But at the time, the light disperses the dust, and pushes the haze in the heart aside, bringing peace and quiet, awakening hope for the future, for the year approaching. The snow, the crystal snow, the snow that decorates the empty city streets, will you still be here years later?

No matter how we get through the year just past, it doesn’t make any sense to immerse in the memory. We shall always look forward, but don’t forget, up in the sky, down on the ground, there must be someone else, caring you, supporting you, giving you hope whenever it seems impossible.

Anyhow, it’s a brand new beginning.

Goodbye, 2018. Hello, 2019.

He could feel drizzle patting his face.

To the best of his ability, he stood up. Anew, darkness enveloped him.

He pondered about what he had just experienced, which was patently a dreadful nightmare. Yet everything was so real, that he couldn’t persuade himself not to recall that dream.

In a moment, he caught sight of something in the distance, something that was gigantic enough to be seen. It was hard for him to put down the desire to approach it. He started padding, but he sensed something preternatural. As if he was walking through a long narrow corridor, in which there was solely enormously faint light.

When he finally reached the thing, he was astonished to find that he was facing a boundless wall which was clearly insurmountable. Scarcely had he had time to figure out what was happening when he was sucked into an exceedingly strong whirlpool, losing his consciousness.

He was astounded again when he opened his eyes.

In his sight there turned seasons. He could see fresh green seedlings protruding, carefree swallows singing and dancing freely in spring, and the brilliant sun creeping up gradually, tiny trees slowly growing to a huge proportion during summer, and with autumn coming the golden foliage fell, embellishing the azure blue sky, and before long clean white snowflakes began to appear, which indicated that winter had reigned the ground. It was quite amazed that he was able to recognize the various colors in no time, as well as the weathers he used to feel and the planets passing over head. What he once could only heard of was just in front of him, like an ancient but exquisite picture scroll opening before his face by degrees. Wherever his vision went, the superb landscapes appealed to him.

He was immersing himself in this fabulous world when in an instant, as if a heavy gate was opened, recollections flooded his brain.

He attempted to cast his mind back, and something mysterious occurred.

He could see his father holding him in his arms, while his mother cradled his brother, staring at two little lives, humming a familiar song he had heard for many times. He could see he and his brother climbing up and down at home, and his brother frequently lending him a hand without which he might have fallen off the table that was still higher than him. He could see the family outing, during which his relatives did not get weary of guiding him, telling him what was going on around, such as fragrant flowers dancing with colorful butterflies. So joyful was he at that time that as he thought, in his heart a knot was untied, and the ice melted.

Never had he realized that so many fantastic memories had been missing since his third birthday, for which he would have lived delightedly, appreciating the love and hope on earth, summoning up the courage and confidence, to strive for an entirely different life.

But it was said there was no sense crying over every mistake, for what had been done was unchangeable. He smiled, blandly, as he floated in the air, higher and higher.

Looking down, he saw himself, just lying, peacefully, on the snow-covered ground.

---

“There lies a wall, up to the heaven, down to the hell, left to infinity, right to where you cannot see.”

“This wall is called death.”

“Only when a person is confronted with this wall will he look back upon his entire life.”

He had no idea where he was.

And a strong feeling that he had never experienced before occupied his mind little by little.

The light was still there. So dim and nebulous was it that the dread of being encircled again by the darkness swiftly crept up from the bottom of his heart. Though he managed to shift his feet with all his strength, he could hardly budge an inch.

Brimming with confusion, he cast a glance at the ground, but only to find blur in his sight. Apparently he was trapped in a funny dream, which was made up of what he had sustained in reality.

Weak as it was, the light still produced warmth like the sun. He knew clearly the sensation of basking. The sunlight was gentle and mild. The feeling of extreme familiarity brought him back to his childhood.

He vaguely remembered that all around him were glee and thrill when he was a infant. Often his parents took him out, holding him in the arms, bathed in the sunshine. Pure and innocent, he enjoyed everything he heard, smelled, touched and tasted, not being aware of the fact that there existed something called vision, which he later thirsted for.

In his memories, his parents never loved him. Oh, maybe they were, before his third birthday. It was unbelievable that a three-year-old little boy could bear so many things in mind such as hearing a baby’s weep and his parents’ mirth, as well as realizing his disability, which had bothered him for what seemed like centuries. In fact, the voices kept reverberating in his mind, and continued pushing him to the verge of collapse. He considered that day a turning point of his life.

“My third birthday.” he smiled wryly, “My last birthday.”

He had no intention, and did not willing, to grumble at his parents. What made all the things transpire was his blindness. Even he felt guilty, and believed that himself was to blame. It was him that let his parents down, and that lost courage to live. It was his disadvantage that made him an object of ridicule, and that surrounded him with the deepest darkness. Had he not been blind, everyone would have lived a better life.

Few merry moments could be found in his recollections afterwards. Or maybe.. he pretended to have forgotten them?

He did not stop searching in his memories until the light began to peter out. His mental pain slightly alleviated as he pulled himself out of mind-wandering.

But an old saying told by his grandpa suddenly emerged in his brain, which sent shudder down his spine, “Only when a person is about to depart this world will he look back upon his entire life.”

For the first time in his life, his heart was seized by such unimaginable fear, and it nearly ceased bounding.

And there went off the light, silently, remaining darkness.

He was born blind.

He had suffered the darkness for years which he had been accustomed to, till that day, when something mysterious happened.

Abruptly he felt a soft, faint beam pierced the darkness, which seemed to be a firefly in the air, a lighthouse on the sea. Confused and attracted though, he got a sense of scare and decided not to move his feet, since he had never seen even a glimmer of light before.

In an instant the star-like light brightened, and it started twinkling. His curiosity aroused, he slowly groped his way towards the source, even if he couldn’t see it clearly. “The light is so gentle.” He thought to himself.

He recalled the period when he was surrounded by absolute darkness. It was not until his third birthday that he was told the earth was full of gorgeous scenery which he wasn’t able to witness, however he hadn’t got the point and he still lived joyfully. But gradually he had no notion of what people were talking when they chatted about weathers, landscapes, and even colors. This beset him a lot, and at last, he conceded the adversity reluctantly.

He had plodded for… how long? He couldn’t tell accurately, but he was depressed by the discovery of the fact that it was still a long distance from where the light was emitted.

Drooping his head with a sigh, he slowed his pace, disheartened. “Why should I undergo all of these?” A disgruntled thought flashed in his heart, and he couldn’t help asking.

That people queried the cause of his blindness was one of his antipathies. He had many antipathies, for instance, talking to others, but that was the very one he detested most, for always he was laughed at and was played a trick on at school, which made him consider everybody untrustworthy.

But he continued dragging himself to the light, as if he was driven by an invisible force. His mind in a turmoil, he couldn’t concentrate. He submerged himself in the past.

Was there anyone caring about him? He didn’t know, yet he would like to believe there wasn’t.

Occasionally he had a strong desire to leave this unlit world, the world with no hope, no laughter, and no happiness, to which he deemed himself useless. He was convinced of the sheer meaninglessness of life, and regarded every day as suffering. He even thought up a method. Maybe… jumping off something was a practical choice?

However, the explanation for the existence of this light remained a mystery. He didn’t care about this. He merely wished to see the source only once, which gave out light that he had yearned for for long. His ears were replete with winds, as he was rushing so fast—he found himself flying in the air.

And ultimately, he fell, asleep.

Yet light was there, still, inside his heart.