I went out on my own this morning. The air was brisk and the whole high street was still in its sleep. There were scarcely any pedestrians on. I walked in my boot and felt light and was somewhat glad I was alone.

As the weather forecast predicted, wafts of mist started to rise over the fields and later it began to drizzle, but none of us minded. We knew the direction and the drizzle was so light that one could hardly feel it.

In the mist and the light drizzle, everything seemed came out of its normal self. Like those leafless trees everywhere, their silhouettes became so much softer and nicer to look at. I had been always dreading to see their sight . The tall,  hard, unmoving figures were so depressing: they seemed to be contaminated by the long lingering winter season, becaming harsh and indifferent to its surroundings, be they comely or not. But now thanks to the wafting mist and the soft drizzle, I easily forgave them. Maybe one just needs to be patient. After all won’t the spring come eventually?

Sometimes I wish our life could all be like this river, or rather my life alone: sparkling in the sunshine, flowing, progressing, and full of possibilities along the way.

In this world of change and fluctuation, I wish there was something or someone that’s as firm and eternal as a piece of placid land beckoning on me. Not for me to fall back to rely on, but something like a lighthouse for me to keep my hopes up.Doesn't one, more often than not, find it very hard to get disheartened and lost if one has hopes, and only too easy if without?