One hundred and fifty years ago, 28-year-old Thoreau got rid of all the shackles in his life and came to the shores of Walden Pond, which was surrounded by woods and rarely visited by people. With a borrowed axe, he cut wood to build a house, dug the ground to grow food, and lived the simplest and most unadorned life.
Sixteen springs ago, when I was still a sophomore, Haizi, the poet who yearned for "being concerned about food and vegetables from tomorrow on, having a house with the sea in view, and warming spring flowers blooming", ended his young life at Shanhaiguan. The yearning for tomorrow became an eternal yearning. Among the four books left beside him, one was Thoreau's "Walden Lake".