Leaving the passion in roses and the calm in lavenders to decode an ocean of flowing joys in between, she quietly rests on the doorsteps of her backyard, smiling at a parade of butterflies floating by. When she wholeheartedly owns the picturesque scene of her making right before her pleased eyes, she is beyond the reach of the temporal world.
As the sunshine is waving a farewell, a light breeze glides in to pay a visit to her heavenly garden, whose gentle touch comforts the bank of the red and purple for their loss, inspires the celestial scents of the daytime to go farther and farther in the twilight, and cradles the butterflies of a happy voyage richer into their deeper and deeper dreams.
Picking up her shoes nearby, she stands up from the doorsteps, takes a deep breath of the flowery air to please her lungs one more time, and goes back inside, getting ready to make a homey dinner before the moonlight walks over yon high mountains for a visit. In the ups and downs of the nightingales' early happy songs following her around, she deciphers a message:
"红烧肉 might be nice, if it is not too much trouble."