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The cicadas' chirping is folded into paper

The July flames dance on the grass leaves, and your shadows are elongated, like two poplar trees standing side by side.

A plant takes root in the heavy rain of Minor Heat, allowing its root system to penetrate the mud and absorb the coolness deep in the earth.

A plant sprouts under the scorching sun of the Great Heat, raising its branches and leaves towards the clear sky, receiving the shade bestowed by the flowing clouds.

Lotus leaves lift up the moonlight

When the wind of the Beginning of autumn sweeps across the reed marsh, you happen to stand at the ferry crossing between summer and autumn.

One carries the scorching heat of July - like a sudden downpour pounding on lotus leaves, each drop splashing up the echo of "Listen to the wind sing".

One carries the clarity of August - like morning dew condensing on the rice ears, making every moment as plump as nearly ripe grains.

The twin candles flickered in the earthenware jars, like two lotus flowers blooming side by side, one reflecting the passion of Minor Heat and the other holding the simple joy of Start of Autumn.

Butterflies carry time

You are the metaphor of the seasons:

It is the rebirth hidden in the cicada shed. The old shell remains on the moss in the forest, while the new wings have shaken off the stars between the veins of the leaves.

It was the clear sky washed by the torrential rain, the dusk that once let dark clouds weigh over the city, and then spread out into a long embankment hanging with rainbows.

At this moment, the autumn wind brings the fragrance of lotus from afar, mingled with the scents of wild chrysanthemums and mugwort.

Please cut open this seasonal fruit

The honey-soaked flesh wraps the entire story of late summer:

There is fishing by the stream in July, with fishing rods lifting the silk of the setting sun.

With the crackling of the August bonfire, sparks adorn your eyebrows.

Today, we blow the candles into shooting stars.

May you always have:

The openness of summer and the composure of autumn

And the twin light that never fades in the eyes of all things.