The calendar does not rush forward too quickly, and it is also clear under careful scrutiny how many feet hover just outside the edge between the fall of New Year’s Eve and the transition from winter to the strength of spring that will come. The passage of time isn't about reversing or rearranging things; a child cannot help but steal a taste of the rice on the stove, revealing a gap in flavor that is far from the surging excitement of children who are devoted to sealing away cached wine, their affection for years past contained more than just a simple superposition of reburied handles and staying together. After seemingly calm waters meet, there arises something wonderful, yet I know within them lies a heroic heart. Tonight, I hear your smile blooming with happy dreams.
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(Note: The original text appears to be poetic and somewhat abstract, making an exact translation challenging. This version aims to preserve the essence and imagery of the original.)