The first time I met her was in the square of the park.
The branches in early spring had just sprouted green buds, and the shadows leaked from the branches formed light spots on the marble at the edge of the square, reflecting the light that was not dazzling and gentle. She stood at the edge of the shade, the blue gauze skirt hanging to her feet covered her ankles, and at her feet were sparrows pecking at each other, as well as scattered grains of rice, which were spread on the ground like sand by the sea. The sparrow made a "goo goo" sound, and I went forward curiously, taking care not to make too much noise. The sparrows were around her, chirping and jumping, while she stood quietly, like a beautiful wax figure.
She seemed to be aware of my arrival and looked back at me in a panic. When I was two meters away from her, she walked with eager steps. Suddenly, the sparrows scattered in a crowd until her figure disappeared on the path in front of them, and they gathered together again to pick up the leftover millet.
At that time, I didn't think why she ran away in such a hurry, but was attracted by another thing: her walking posture was strange
The second time I met her was a month later. She was still wearing the same blue gauze skirt, still in the square, but there was no millet and sparrows everywhere. Instead of the sparrows around her, there are several gray faced boys. One of them holds a slingshot in his left hand, a handful of stones in his right hand, and a brown gray bird with slightly white wings in her hand. I probably know what happened.
The boys made faces at her and ran away. Instead of chasing her, she hurried to the south exit, where there was a small pharmacy. I saw that she did not care about the strange eyes of the children around her, and limped hard to run. When she passed me by, her tight eyebrows and the expression of crying were deeply engraved on my eyes
It's early summer when I came to the square for the third time. I didn't see her any more, but among the groups of sparrows on the branches, there was a bird with a slightly white wing tip that was different from others, flying around the branches and singing a graceful song. I was momentarily in a trance, and the girl in the blue gauze skirt appeared in front of me, dancing with flocks of birds on the marble with light steps that were no longer twisted.
I thought of those questions and thanks that I had not been able to say when I met her twice, and my heart was as sweet and sour as lemonade mixed with honey, which flowed into my heart.
At the beginning of summer, the last breeze took the unspoken sentences away and drifted together in the sun.