Once there was a woman. There is a fig tree in her yard. With this tree as the axis, her yard is like a little planet, and will slowly autobiography. In other words, going out through the main gate is this normal neighborhood, but going out through the courtyard gate is often a strange place.
Sometimes when her yard came to the Amazon jungle, she got a guava to plant in the yard.
Sometimes the yard was transferred to Australia, and the eucalyptus branch reached into the yard, and she also reached out to say hello to Koala.
Sometimes the yard was transferred to the Sahara desert, it was very hot and there was no water, she would hurry to support a white cloth curtain on the top of the small yard, take the water pipe from home, and water the flowers over and over again.
Another time the yard was transferred to Antarctica, and now she had no choice but to close the doors and windows and wait.
Anyway, these people with golden fingers are the most optimistic. They know that flowers and plants will die, they will live, and that winter is spring. There is a yard, and in her, there is the whole world.