When the miles after miles of wild flowers erupted on the lushly verdant slopes of the valley that spring, I happened to hike gratifyingly there, looking at the breathtaking mountains with a bird's view from above. It was 2017, an once-in-a-decade unexpectancy after abundant rainfall in the preceding winter.
Spring, the most picturesque season with flower blooms and velvet green from my childhood, becomes a distant memory after moving to this arid sunny land. For decades, it is almost forgotten --had it not been revived by the stunning beauty I witnessed that year.
“Spring here could be just as beautiful!“, I murmured to myself at the sight then, embraced by the equally soft spring wind from a different valley.
And because of this, I have longed for its return ever since. In the years that ensued, I prayed for bountiful winter rains, the only big rainy season, and my yearnings for good spring waxed and waned along with them.
Last winter did not fail us. The heavy rain pounded the land, resulting in King tides on the coast in early January and the appearance of green on mountains later in the month. But the unexpected warm temperatures and dry gusts soon evaporated the landscape. The green faded and soon retreated to the scorching sun.
Then stories of two hikers bitten to death Were spread in the social media. I know I wouldn't venture out this spring to the valley we once frequented, plus spring is nowhere to be seen.
Revised by Chatgpt:)
When miles upon miles of wildflowers erupted across the lush, verdant slopes of the valley that spring, I happened to be there, hiking and taking in the breathtaking mountains from above. It was 2017—an unexpected, once-in-a-decade spectacle brought on by the abundant rains of the preceding winter.
Spring, once the most picturesque season of my childhood, with its blossoms and velvet greenery, had long since faded into a distant memory after I moved to this arid, sun-drenched land. For two decades, it was almost forgotten—until that year, when its beauty returned so vividly before my eyes.
“Spring here can be just as beautiful,” I murmured to myself, embraced by the gentle breeze drifting through a different valley.
Since then, I have longed for its return. In the years that followed, I found myself hoping for generous winter rains—the only true rainy season here—and my anticipation for spring rose and fell with them.
Last winter did not disappoint. Heavy rains drenched the land, bringing king tides to the coast in early January and a flush of green to the mountains soon after. But the warmth came too quickly, and dry winds swept through, draining the life from the landscape. The green faded, retreating under the relentless blaze of the sun.
Then came unsettling stories on social media—two hikers reportedly bitten to death. I knew I would not venture out this time. Besides, spring, it seemed, had once again slipped out of reach.
Pictures below were taken by friends in Southeast China, shared in Wechat Moments.
