That morning in the village house is a vivid watercolor painting in my eyes. Leaving the concrete jungle and smog of the city behind, I stepped off the bus and stepped into another world. What is the air like? Not cold, not hot, just filled with an absolute freshness, as if nature itself was breathing on me.

The mango orchard in front of my uncle's house. The rows of trees are like green giants standing tall. The sun, peeking through the gaps in the leaves, weaves a golden web on the ground. And the wind... oh, that wind! It is the invisible driving force of this scene. When it sways lightly, the entire garden seems to breathe together. Leaf after leaf trembles, making a melodious sound – shon shon – as if the trees are whispering secrets to each other. The long branches of the distant palm trees sway as if writing invisible poetry in the sky.

I sat down in the shade of a banyan tree by the pond. The carpet of grass underfoot is soft and wet. A light breeze blows over the water ahead, creating a play of silver lines. A group of hyacinths on the water's edge sway to the rhythm of the wind, bowing their heads as if to greet each other. The sound of a flock of birds flying in circles in the sky, the sound of their wings flapping and the rustling of leaves - the combination of these two creates nature's own symphony.

A yellow butterfly flew in and sat on my knee. It opened and closed its soft wings, as if it was resting, tired of the play of the wind. I took a deep breath. My lungs filled with the freshness of the trees, the aroma of wet soil, the sweet scent of flowers. What we call 'fresh air' in the city is not just air here, it is a touch of vitality. Standing here, I feel that in this kingdom of greenery, the relationship between the wind and the trees is not distant; they complement each other, they are essential to each other. The dance of the leaves of the trees is incomplete without the wind, the song of the wind without the trees is lonely.

From afar, the sound of the wheels of a bullock cart and the melodious vermilion call of the shepherd come to mind. If you close your eyes, it seems that the whole of nature is breathing and exhaling together. In the rhythm of this breathing lies peace, a deep tranquility that cannot be imagined in the hustle and bustle of the city. This cover of greenery, the intimate touch of the air, and this continuous music of nature – these are what make a village not just a place, but a living, breathing entity. It seemed to me that no matter how much I suffocate in the city air, the lungs of the earth are working divinely in all such green darkness. I am just a witness, a momentary spectator of this precious, eternal relationship.