The sky was heavy and dark, like a leaden weight pressing down, making the air feel somewhat suffocating. However, such gloomy weather didn't necessarily mean there wouldn't be a hearty dinner. Having eaten a bit too much, I went for a stroll to aid digestion.
In the dim light, the vibrant colors faded. Before I knew it, I had reached the main gate, wandering leisurely while listening to the symphony of insects and frogs. The darkness merely divided the scenery into light and shadow, creating layers that held a unique charm.
Date trees stood close by, their fruits faintly visible. The tall poplars that once stood straight in my mind had now become a continuous mass of shadows, appearing almost like something mysterious. The light from the streetlamps filtered through the leaves in soft streaks, appearing exceptionally bright against the darkness, almost looking like eerie eyes from a distance. I silently mentally cataloged the various shapes of these shadows.
"I'm grown up now; I'm no longer afraid of the dark," I thought to myself. Suddenly, there was a movement on the roof behind me. Turning around, I saw two bright eyes staring intently at me. My sudden movement startled them, and they leapt away, their blurred figures racing across the roof before vanishing into the dark night. My younger cousin had appeared at some point and had thrown a stone hard against the roof. With a sharp crack, a tile broke. The little fellow was soon scolded; his tears flowed instantly, and he ran back into the house sobbing. Watching this, I felt an urge to laugh—as if seeing my own younger self making mistakes—yet I also felt a hint of guilt, thinking that if I had stopped him, this "tragedy" might not have unfolded.
Indeed, growing up brings a certain laziness, but it also brings a deeper capacity for reflection.
