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“I want to travel to Europe, backpacking alone, traveling alone, witnessing the scenery, holding a camera in my hands, taking pictures, and recording the mood along the way. That kind of life is what I want.”

The early morning sunlight dripped down like a drizzle on the dream-like house in front of me, sprinkled all over every corner of the dusty age. The fresh smell of plants filled the air. Following the smell, the European-style building was exposed to my sight, covered with moss on the outer wall. There was a copper fence in the yard, the top of which was slightly curled. Although the paint on the gate had been corroded due to old age, it had vicissitudes of beauty. The golden doorknob shone with a tiny light under the sunshine, and even if the cold morning dew touched my body, it would evaporate due to that light.

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The romantic and solemn temperament, the high foyer and the grand door, the round-arched windows and the stone masonry at the corners were all graceful and luxurious. Fresh and unconventional, white stucco walls combined with light red roof tiles, continuous arches and corridors, and a living room with high and large windows. Elegance, sophistication, and comfort, the porch and foyer stretched to the north and south, and the indoor and outdoor scenes blended. Classic and cheerful, the spire-shaped sloping roof, plastered wooden frame and column-style decoration, natural building materials, and vines clinging to it complement each other, making it classic but fashionable.

The mischievous sunlight leaped up the windowsill restlessly, squeezed into the green shutters, and peeped at the sleeping me. The murmured babble made it giggle and bent over, slipped, and fell to the ground, and the faint traces disturbed the lucid dream. The sun went through the silver fir leaves, leaving shattered mottles on the grass. The breeze blew past, shaking off the needles on the ground.

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That lazy afternoon reminded me of the smoke from my hometown, fading towards the sky as it rose. Sit down, hold a book, and wander in the midday of April. Those distant times, distant futures, dispersed in the faint sunlight of the afternoon. The light was a bit dazzling. A person, a cup of tea, a book, and comfort are all in this warm garden. The sunlight was shredded, light but warm and bright. The sky was light blue, with a few kites flying in it.

The afternoon sun was the most charming in my eyes. It did not have the tenderness of sunrise, nor the vastness of sunset. Like my amiable mother, there would always be a touch of warm colors in the places she passed by. Warm, revealing some romance, mixed with youthful fantasy. This afternoon time, pregnant with the light of thoughts. I strained my thoughts in the bottom of my heart, omitting the glitz, and the calmness of the precipitation was more simple and purer. At this time, the afternoon sun gradually climbed up the window lattice. That mottled projection warmed every corner and every grain of dust.

“If happiness has a color, mine will be reddish-yellow.”