Preface, July 21, Houston There’s no windows in our lab. Daylight passes without any signs left. Sometimes, I knew it’s pouring only when I stepped out this building. Or sometimes, the road was already dry, but the flowers under the crape myrtle trees told me a rain had just past. Eyesight began to drop again. […]
In the distance, tips of the mountains are islands among the waves. The sun is shining, the fog is suffusing, waving, and finally rising, leaving his bed – the trees. Horizontal is the name of the mountain.