If You Walk the Way Toward Somewhere

Someone said that if you roam over mountains and plains, and come to the end of the plain where it meets the sky, and walk along the riverside where the plain and sky merge into one another, you’ll find a sea at last. And he continued to say that if you pick the sunlight scattering around here and there and put them in the knapsack you carry, and carry the clouds that drifting high above on atop of your knapsack, may rain fall and wind would rise. And when you move your steps after putting up at a marsh for a while, on the way to the sun setting horizon, and when the sunlight falls to the ground one by one, and clouds fall to the ground piece by piece, they would pile up as the fallen leaves under the feet of a lonely wanderer. And, finally, he says that, after you have written all the stories you know on the leaves which are the fallen sunlight and clouds you picked and gathered from the ground, and send them to the ones you, once were acquainted with at dusk, winter would come hiding her face behind a white veil. Spring would come shivering in the chilling air as a white flower by the lonely tombstone. Is that why I am walking toward somewhere? Is that why I am alone standing here like this?