In the middle of this sea of greenness stands a lonely shadow. In the afternoon, the time is frozen within this corner. The sight is never different, and the creatures, wandering without a destination, become the sparse decoration of the light green canvas. The only thing alive is the wind. It constantly passes by, yet the only silent sign of its existence is the slight tilt of the grass.
        Glazing at the cow inches away, the old lady wonders if they share her despair, trapping in this cube, rotting from within. Or, they may have no idea how that feels because they have never had something else before. But she does, and the scar of its departure has nailed her in this grave. The spot is still fresh; she could still see the face of her daughter, hear her daughter’s lovely voice announcing her return, and sense her existence occasionally in the now-empty tent. However, all these signs deepen the grief in her heart, turning the afternoon that she once enjoyed with ease into seemingly endless suffering. Now all she could do was to bear this sorrow in her heart and silently wait for the day she followed her daughter’s path.
        Just as the lady stood still thinking of the depressing present, a crow landed gently on her shoulder, steering at her face without sounding. She makes little remarks regarding this unusual guest, thinking it must have mistaken her for a tree. She feels pity that it has to suffer in this prison just as the rest of them do. However, she does not want it to leave. She feels something familiar from her company, something so warm and precious that she dares not forget. She gasps at her unfortunate encounter with this crow that once again reveals the scar on her heart, thinking silly of herself trying to find a trace of her daughter within this small creature. She cannot take even the lightest of hope for it may push her even deeper into her grave. Slowly, she waves her hand to cast the guest off her shoulder, following it with her eyes as it gradually disappears from the sky.
        The next day, when the sun starts appearing from the side of the mountains, the lady wakes up, still thinking of yesterday’s encounter. This little novelty, not recognized by her, makes falling asleep much easier than before. For the whole morning, as she goes through her daily routine, she glazes at the sky occasionally, wanting to see anything that may resemble her guest, but nothing appears. The blueness of the sky swallows all other colors, just as she expected. Feeling more lost than usual, under the same afternoon scene, she again questioned how long this prison would hold her already shattered spirit.
        However, as she let her thoughts go wild, she senses a lite wind blowing her head from the back. It is nothing like the winds that generally pass her by that leave no traces behind. This one seems to linger around, combing her hair gently. Then, weight is again added to her left shoulder, and the guest she longed for has returned.
        The crow still makes no sound, making up its feather with ease. It is here to blow her longlines away, and she realizes it now. At this moment, to the old lady, a bond between her and the crow has been formed, or does the bond she cherished the most impossibly returned. She choose not to seek for an answer, as it is already apparent in her heart.