&；nbsp；I like those bright sunshine, love those cheerful breeze, like the air with fragrance of flowers, love Mayday's beautiful songs.&；nbsp； &；nbsp；I was born in summer and have a special preference for summer. I can wear beautiful skirts, eat a lot of pretty fruits, play with water, drink mung bean soup, eat popsicles, slap mosquitoes while looking at stars, and even catch fireflies...&；nbsp； &；nbsp；Summer is a romantic season, as well as a crazy one. When I was a child, I often climbed up to the tree to sleep and dream, climb very high trees, listen to the whispers between the wind and the treetops, watch those shiny leaves sway gracefully under the sunlight...&；nbsp； &；nbsp；When I went home on May Day, I saw the full tree of bellflower blossoms. Those flowers with delicate threads bloomed so beautifully, like fairies joining a ball, dancing gracefully in the wind. The pale silver-yellow stamens intertwined into a grand fireworks display, just like weaving a fairy-tale-like dream. In this dream, there is silver moonlight everywhere, dazzling and bright, but I like it.&；nbsp； This is an old tree, planted by my grandmother. The old tree is old now, and my grandmother has passed away. The old tree has bloomed many flowers and will bear a lot of fruits too, the same color as the flowers - bell-shaped fruits. But they no longer have any appeal to us because no one gives us bags anymore like Grandma used to, nor does anyone stand under the tree and look up at us like she did. Indeed, this old tree is no longer our playground now. The neighbor's children have been eyeing it for a long time, and now this tree belongs to them under the sun. I didn't stop them because they can build their childhood on this tree and leave behind a lot of clear laughter. This old tree will be remembered by them just like how I remember it.&；nbsp； It can still bloom, still bear fruit, that's great! It's happy because it has a cycle of cause and effect. But the mango tree next to it isn't as happy. Both are trees in front of the house, but the 08 snowstorm took away all its flowers, leaves, and stubbornness. Since then, it has been sickly and unwilling to recover, so we no longer have delicious mangoes, nor do we have the fun of getting up early in the morning to pick mangoes. But the swing under the tree is still there, swinging back and forth. What was originally immovable were just those frozen memories. I often swing and look at the moon, stars, and enjoy the ticklish cool breeze. But the swing is broken now, I can't sit on it anymore... So, many dreams in May have scattered, only the fireflies remain as active as ever, but they are getting fewer and fewer...&；nbsp； I like May, inexplicably. When May comes, the dissipated and scattered dreams are filled with new ones, making me feel happy and satisfied. It has been a very long time since I wore long skirts with swaying hems, those dresses with colorful flowers, so vulgar yet enchanting, were my favorite when I was a child. Those jumping flowers are full of happiness given by the wind because my laughter is connected with them, growing in my young heart, a fiery red expanse, beautiful enough to make people not want to grow up. Back then, the whole summer was spent wearing skirts, even when climbing trees. Have you ever seen wild and crazy girls like us? But the feeling back then was really good. Standing on the tree, the wind brushes past the leaves and flows under my feet, the skirt hem flutters like a bird with wings, lightly leaning against me, listening to the stories told by the wind.&；nbsp； I started listening to Mayday's songs through the radio in junior high school. Every afternoon during the summer vacation, someone would request their songs, and it felt like enjoying songs I requested myself, very happy and nostalgic. Now I still listen to Mayday's songs. I've grown up, but they haven't aged, which makes me very happy!&；nbsp；Just regrettable about all the flowers and grasses in my garden. Those fairies used to be my happiest寄托 during holidays. I liked talking to them, adding some soil, watering them, catching bugs for them. I once promised to write a story for each of these fairies, but every time I returned home after a long absence, many of them had already left, gone far away, and I hadn't even written a single story for them. The last fairy to leave me was the rose. Last summer when I came home, its home had already become a place for my mom to cultivate seedlings. It left without even saying goodbye to me, just like the other fairies.&；nbsp； The elegant butterfly orchids, the charming rouges, the sturdy落地生根s, the vain nails, the cute pig heads, the golden chrysanthemums, the graceful roses, and also those fairies I haven't named yet, you were the flowers that grew in my heart, blooming so lively and beautifully. Then I stopped cultivating any spiritual plants because my heart could no longer grow those pure and beautiful fairies. Losing the innocence to talk to them meant losing that connection. All the connections are gone now, only I am left alone mourning their silent beauty in the deep night.&；nbsp；May. Summer. Dreams are growing wildly, those branches and vines swallowing up those lonely skies. The sunshine is beautiful. The moon is beautiful. These are all told by the wind, and I always respect the wind, so I believe everything the wind says. The wind said I'm silly, I nodded and agreed. The wind said I'm moody, I nodded and agreed. The wind said I'm a crazy girl, I nodded and agreed. The wind said I've grown up, I nodded and agreed. The wind said I'm not happy, I nodded and agreed. The wind said my fairies have all flown away, but they are all happy, I nodded and cried but also laughed. The wind said it would leave but come back to see me, I shook my head but couldn't hold it back.&；nbsp；May, without the swaying skirts, without the fairies' fluttering, without the swing's rocking, but I still like it because it still retains the scent of their scattering, which is enough. At least I still have Mayday's songs.&；nbsp；