When I am old, I leave far away from the prosperous and noisy city, together with my dear husband, and live a rural life. There is no bright lights, and there is no bustling crowd. We are surrounded by mountains, hearing the quiet stream gurgling, picking bunches of sweet-smelling flowers, and planting various fruit treses.
Although my hair is surely grey, and my face is ploughed with wrinkles, and even I can not see his facial appearance clearly any more because of too much age, he still accompany with me. We love each other as if we are young. Just like William Butler Yeats said,＂How many loved your moments of glad grace, and love your beauty with love false or true. But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, and loved the sorrowed of your changing face.＂In the afternoons, he make a pot of tea as usual. Bathing in the sunshine, and lying on the green and vast grassland, we read books slowly, and dreams of the soft look.
At night, we have a fancy family dinner for our childen and grandchildren with green vegetabes planted on our own, and chickens and ducks raised by ourselves.After that, we watch the grandchildren catching fireflies in the field. When they go to bed, I tell them stories about when I am young.
