After the wind and snow, I still remember the flowers.
Many years later, I believe I will often recall this beautiful night on the grassland. We were on a long journey when the car we were riding in broke down in a deserted, barren land with only the remains of a dead golden acacia tree still standing. We requested rescue, but were told we would have to wait at least eight hours, so we had to wait in place. He suggested we get out and walk around. This was a dangerous move, but I was never afraid of adventure. We stepped on the shallow soil mixed with gravel and unknown plant branches, listening to the gentle west wind carrying our footsteps flying past our ears. When night fell, we could see the beautiful Milky Way clearly and even expected one or two meteors to streak across the deep blue sky. As the increasingly thick darkness gradually enveloped everything, we sat silently on a cracked piece of mud, silently welcoming the starlight that had been with us all the way. At that time, I had not yet given up my addiction to actinidia polygama.
"Thirty years later, do you still miss that crazy era?" He broke the silence.
A puff of smoke rose up and temporarily covered the starry sky.
"I think so," I said casually, my gaze not leaving the low stars.
"Oh?" he replied with interest, "Why?"
I took a deep breath of tightly clenched leaves and silently felt the intoxicating aroma spreading lightly in my spleen and lungs. Unconsciously, familiar scenes seemed to reappear before my eyes.
"Don’t forget, there was still black fog at that time," he said.
I identified the blurred image, exhaled the last puff of smoke hidden in my lungs, and said slowly, "Okay, there was."
Then there was a long silence. The howling of an unknown animal rose from behind us, then dissipated above our heads, telling us that this was not a place to stay for long. At this moment, I saw everything clearly in my eyes:
"There was fog, but there was you."
Under the pale starlight, I could not see his expression clearly. My tail seemed to be tightly entangled with something - was it an ancient memory?
On the way back, he said, "You know what? If it wasn't for you, maybe I would have forgotten what that year was like a long time ago." I nodded in agreement.
Ten years of fog, hundred years of frost. After the wind and snow, I still remember the flowers.