Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo...

 

I have just quoted the open lines from A Portrat of the artist as a young man by James Joyce. It seems like that there was a good time which belongs to the ever-past hidden in the heart of everyone. Some times such old good times seems so tasteful that the reality world in front of me looks distant. Every piece of the map of my heart collaps and try to find its own destination, where I myself could not tell.

 

I would like to find a way to lead a slow life, which could prolong my patient and open my eyes of sensitive to discover the tinny issues of life and the corner of my heart as well. It seems like Zen, which gives out the idea of living present. One thing one time and do your utmost to avoid regret.

 

I fall in love with the sound of accordin these days.   It is like the wind, wich passing througn the leak of my heart and bringing a train of memories, memories of both happiness and sadness, warmness and coldness. I love those complicate feelings just like love the simply life. A simply vessel could always give a home to perplexing issues. when I heared those music played by accordin, I found that I was not just sit here in my room but also have a freedom to go far away on a foreign land, wandering and singing, my experience turned into a slow movie, soundless but vivid.

 

Who can tell that a second could not turn into a life long time?