Finn Su once visited a small town abroad.
That night she celebrated the New Year alone. European towns fell asleep very early, and there was no sense of the Spring Festival. She put her hands in the pockets of her coat and stood by the lake halfway up the mountain. A small part of it was frozen, but the other half was still frozen. She looked at the lake for a while under the sparkling light, then turned to look at the sleeping town.
The phone in my pocket suddenly vibrated. It must be midnight. Just like that, a small light came on in the house in the distance.
A lamp is not rare. It is rare to appear in the stillness of everything. It is rare to appear at the right time.
It's strange that Finn Su thought of this scene on this noisy night a few years later. On dry winter nights, lonely winter nights, a lamp is lit, swaying, trembling, timid, and will soon be extinguished.
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