As winter passed and the weather grew warmer, my eyes were drawn to the rape blossoms blooming all along the banks of the river. They were swaying in the soft spring breeze and sunlight. Perhaps it is my imagination, but I feel that the sound of the river changes when spring arrives. If winter is harsh, spring is cold but sweet and melting. Many butterflies do not leave the flowers. Something jumped into the river. Ripples alone do not tell who they are. Under the command of a short tree swaying in the wind, the rape blossoms seem to sway to the tune of the wind. The tiny yellows gather and enter the depths of my eyes. These flowers, which remind me of spring again this year, are perhaps a springtime messenger to keep the cold of winter even further away.
