Even if it is the summer, walking in the Acacia forest, also do not feel the sun dazzling dry fierce. Acacia is also the most common tree in the hills. The branches are slender and rise upward with clean lines. As thin as the leaves of willow, a cluster, sparse, like a thin plane spread out fan, quietly floating up and down in the wind. The early summer sun was filtered, swaying into a golden light between the leaf gaps, slowly from the top down. Even if it is the summer, walking in the Acacia forest, also do not feel the sun dazzling dry fierce. The thin leaves are like a natural umbrella, softening the scorching heat and softening the too strong sunlight. People on the mountain road in the Acacia forest come and go, out of a quiet path. Greedy to see the trees between the sun blurred shaking ripples, mountain road high and low twists and turns. Not in a hurry, not in a hurry to go where, the forest passers-by walk all the way, all the way to smell a wave of fragrance. Fragrance with a little sweet, unlike the fragrance of flowers, lightly in the wind, if there is no, from time to time, to find seriously, but no trace. Ancient Taiwan folk to pick acacia wood to do fuel, also used to make charcoal, take the advantages of less smoke smell. The thick black charcoal strips of the children's arms, about 30 centimeters long, are tied tightly in bundles and stacked under the eaves of the kitchen. When cooking, they are pumped into the stove and thrown into the fire. The fire burns, jumps up and down, Acacia wood crackling burst sound, far from a street lane filled with Acacia wood thick charcoal incense. Acacia wood charcoal, by fire forced out of the smell of rich sweet thick, stay in the memory of childhood, as if unwilling to fade; As if even in the fire will be ashes, still want to insist on leaving a soul in the air, in any case will not disperse. Perhaps it is better to wander along the forest path that fades away in the wind. Rotary, I think I have forgotten what, Acacia wood fragrance in the wind faint drifting away, no fire forced, is it better to forget than memory?

I remember this early summer afternoon. I remember the white Tong flowers falling like snow. I remember the rich smell of moon peach, attracting bees. I remember the fireflies at night, the stars twinkling among the mountains. I want to remember S's words, I want to remember J's young and happy face, I want to remember the wind in the forest, I want to remember the light flowing on every vein of leaves, I want to remember the noisy frog in the grass... I want to remember every moment of my life, every color, every sound, every subtle and imperceptible smell. I want to fold them up one by one, one by one in the corner of memory. One day you said: Is a young man learning art to save all the "beautiful" memories? I think you are not asking me, you are just asking yourself to answer, I of course smile without a word, waiting for your own conclusion. I knew I was greedy for beauty and there was no cure. But what is the capacity of my memory to hold everything in this world? As I walked down the hill, the people of the city were still anxious and frightened, and the plague was not far away. The disaster did not bring people close to each other, hatred, greed, hatred, love, as if burning fire. After May, mossy flowers of the Acacia wood, which blossom very late this year, are yellow and yellow, scattered into thin catkins all over the mountains. After a long time after the mountain, walking through the streets of the city, acacia wood if there is no fragrance still lingering for a long time, only to find that the body is covered with thin yellow catkins. They have no intention to follow me to the world, but I miss, as a kind of fate, can remember, can also forget.

Even if it is the summer, walking in the Acacia forest, also do not feel the sun dazzling dry fierce. Acacia is also the most common tree in the hills. The branches are slender and rise upward with clean lines. As thin as the leaves of willow, a cluster, sparse, like a thin plane spread out fan, quietly floating up and down in the wind. The early summer sun was filtered, swaying into a golden light between the leaf gaps, slowly from the top down. Even if it is the summer, walking in the Acacia forest, also do not feel the sun dazzling dry fierce. The thin leaves are like a natural umbrella, softening the scorching heat and softening the too strong sunlight. People on the mountain road in the Acacia forest come and go, out of a quiet path. Greedy to see the trees between the sun blurred shaking ripples, mountain road high and low twists and turns. Not in a hurry, not in a hurry to go where, the forest passers-by walk all the way, all the way to smell a wave of fragrance. Fragrance with a little sweet, unlike the fragrance of flowers, lightly in the wind, if there is no, from time to time, to find seriously, but no trace. Ancient Taiwan folk to pick acacia wood to do fuel, also used to make charcoal, take the advantages of less smoke smell. The thick black charcoal strips of the children's arms, about 30 centimeters long, are tied tightly in bundles and stacked under the eaves of the kitchen. When cooking, they are pumped into the stove and thrown into the fire. The fire burns, jumps up and down, Acacia wood crackling burst sound, far from a street lane filled with Acacia wood thick charcoal incense. Acacia wood charcoal, by fire forced out of the smell of rich sweet thick, stay in the memory of childhood, as if unwilling to fade; As if even in the fire will be ashes, still want to insist on leaving a soul in the air, in any case will not disperse. Perhaps it is better to wander along the forest path that fades away in the wind. Rotary, I think I have forgotten what, Acacia wood fragrance in the wind faint drifting away, no fire forced, is it better to forget than memory?

I remember this early summer afternoon. I remember the white Tong flowers falling like snow. I remember the rich smell of moon peach, attracting bees. I remember the fireflies at night, the stars twinkling among the mountains. I want to remember S's words, I want to remember J's young and happy face, I want to remember the wind in the forest, I want to remember the light flowing on every vein of leaves, I want to remember the noisy frog in the grass... I want to remember every moment of my life, every color, every sound, every subtle and imperceptible smell. I want to fold them up one by one, one by one in the corner of memory. One day you said: Is a young man learning art to save all the "beautiful" memories? I think you are not asking me, you are just asking yourself to answer, I of course smile without a word, waiting for your own conclusion. I knew I was greedy for beauty and there was no cure. But what is the capacity of my memory to hold everything in this world? As I walked down the hill, the people of the city were still anxious and frightened, and the plague was not far away. The disaster did not bring people close to each other, hatred, greed, hatred, love, as if burning fire. After May, mossy flowers of the Acacia wood, which blossom very late this year, are yellow and yellow, scattered into thin catkins all over the mountains. After a long time after the mountain, walking through the streets of the city, acacia wood if there is no fragrance still lingering for a long time, only to find that the body is covered with thin yellow catkins. They have no intention to follow me to the world, but I miss, as a kind of fate, can remember, can also forget.