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A rain large enough can help us topercept and remember. Last night, I walking was in such a moderate and softrain. The sky was dark and black, but in my memory, they are a kind of lightblue. It was still monotonous, with no moons on it. Maybe it is because Ididn’t look at it intentionally, I never seen a moon at Dartmouth. The vaguetrees are combined with the street lamp for away from me, looking like aspecial anglerfish. Walking in the rain is always sorrow and beautiful. Iwatched the fast cars passing me and get out of my horizon, and I noticed thatit might be the last time for me to be here in my whole life. Everything thathas become a routine, everything that I formed habit with in the last twoweeks, they will break down sharply. I remembered when a classmate read herstory to the class, there were some scientific facts mentioned in the writing,but she brought them up naturally. At that time, I remembered how Proust talkedabout the Pennsylvania rose, and wanted to tell her she had the talent to givethe words a style, but I forgot to tell her at all. I remembered I wanted towrite a novel about how I and my friends are paled by the education, but Ididn’t write it at all. I remembered I wanted to find the pond near the pinepark, but I cannot. I also remembered the old-fashioned house inside theforest, the old tree been cut down, the moments saying hi to everyone, and thetime itself.
Tomorrow, perhaps I am at anairport waiting for a plane to a distant place. The plane will fly to the skyand stop slowly, like waving to the past. One day, maybe, my memory will trapitself like a curious cat, and get anxious and nervous with time going on, butI will notice it by its uncovered tail, my moments. I will know at least I’velived those days before.