There's always a place you'll want to walk around on your own, whether it's early morning or dusk, winter, summer or spring and autumn. It is only when one is alone that the thoughts connected to the surroundings can be opened up at once.

The other self that lives in the heart.

Remember that scary corner on the way home from school? As long as it is autumn and the morning is close to winter, you will rush out of the 110-degree angle that will make your heart palpitate as fast as you can when you ride a bicycle with a school bag on your back. Now, even if you want to experience any kind of familiar horror in the middle of the night, you can only think about it.

As long as it is after the summer solstice, the crimson flowers that bloom along the cement road can no longer appear in the field of vision, and it is rare to dream of it in dreams.

Do you remember an apple seed buried under a camphor tree on the bank of the embankment? At that time, I was full of confidence, wanting to watch the apple seedlings grow taller and taller day by day, shoulder to shoulder with me and grow together, and then imagine that the trees were full of red and translucent, large and small apples, and even some of them were ripe and fell to the ground, as if they had smashed Newton's head and hit my brain.

Naturally, the apple seed did not turn into an apple tree and produced apples, and perhaps it had quietly said goodbye to me shortly after it was buried in the soil, but I didn't know. After a long time, when I went to look again, it was still only the camphor trees standing on both sides.

Do you remember the pool where you used to play? I heard that a long time ago, this pool was still the water of life for everyone, because after the water pipes in front of every house were removed, everyone was forced to carry the water in the pool to wash and cook. I haven't heard of anyone in that family who is unwell or sick, but they are still alive and well.

As everyone knows, what children like most is to squat on the edge of the pool, throw small stones into it, sit on the stone pebbles in the summer, soak their feet in it, catch small tadpoles and small fish......

I used to do the same thing, wet clothes and trouser legs but I didn't worry, I fell on the morning ground with the sun on the side and squinted and slept for a while, it was dry, and then I picked up my schoolbag and jumped home.

Remember the river bank where the sweet potatoes were roasted with large stones? The fire that was finally lit, because of the waste workbook thrown into it and a handful of hay that was pulled in, the flames jumped upwards slowly, billowing blue smoke, accompanied by the gusts of river wind, first pounced on our faces, choking tears and snot, and the smoke was blown away far away, watching them completely fade away, that is, turning around, holding a thick stick and carefully plucking a blackened sweet potato that had been burned by the fire.

In the end, the roasted sweet potato still ate into my mouth, and it was many, many times more delicious than the grandfather I bought from my grandfather on the street, that is, the roasted corn that day was roasted all over the body.

Now I have never eaten roasted sweet potatoes, and I will not buy them, and when I see dried sweet potatoes, I can't help but think of the roasted sweet potatoes that were hot that day.

How much difference can taste make?

It's just that the present is not what it used to be, and the taste I want to taste and the scenery I see can't change me back to that day, that moment, that second.

There are some places that I want to revisit when I leave them, and some places that are too profound make me afraid to take a step, worried, worried that my thoughts will be endless.