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　　At the intersection of the seasons, the snow has not fallen.

　　I thought, this is not silence, this should be brewing.

　　You see, the sun freely shuttle under the sky, still lit up a tree of red and yellow, painting rendering time. Days of peace within reach, raised joy like ripples, a circle of ripples.

　　No doubt, this is the last hurrah of autumn. But this is the opening dance of early winter - after a long wait and watch, it is finally its turn to appear, it must be brewing a gorgeous, a stunning.