From the sky come echoing serious and solemn voices that drown out the whistle of winds rolling through pinewoods and the lapping of waves sweeping the sandy beaches. Those voices come from a conversation between two members of nature – Summer and Autumn.
Summer: Oh, my friend, we have known each other for so long, but why do we always resent each other and not get along well? Don't you know me? I am Summer, who unveils his youthful appearance and exercises his robust body under the vast, bright universe; like that forever-swaying sea, clambered in my bosom is throbbing vitality; my feelings are so passionate that my heart is like the nucleons of the sun…Am I not beautiful? Don't you like me?
Autumn: Ha, my brother, you are beautiful and I do like you, but I also deeply pity those poor terrestrial dwellers, when your direct sunshine bakes the earth so that the air is filled with thermo-molecules, when those living in tight rooms without enough space cannot ease the suffering caused by your thermal radiation penetrating their thin roofs, when people can only use their willpower to protect themselves from your scorching torment, when…
Summer: Alas, my sentimental Autumn, you have a maudlin temperament. Aren't you talking about heat? That is exactly my merit – I am proud to be able to convey to the terrestrial world this first element of life.
Autumn: My dear brother, I admire your enthusiasm, but are you aware that you often go too far in the expression of your vehemence, which is only your one-sided wishful thinking…
Summer: My gloomy Autumn, you are full of recondite ideas and unknown thoughts. Your eyes flash chilly lights. You must be an abandoned child of warmth, or you must be jealous of me.
Autumn: No, my brother, I'm not jealous of you. Look, I have my beauty, too: During the daytime, I am balmily bright, clear, and high, naturally influencing people to be open-hearted and broad-minded, I offer bright moonlight and breezy air, provoking people into profound thinking. I like to probe, seek, and search along the way of thinking. In autumn, I let everything ripen for humans to reap…
Summer: Hold up right there, my friend. Are you talking about ripeness? But without growth, where would ripeness come from? And I am the very season for growth! Winter freezes the surface of the earth; Spring just spreads seeds in the earth; and you, Autumn, enjoy the growing results at the time of ripening. But I am the only one that helps the growing to grow.
Autumn: Yes, my dear brother, but your vehemence, forthrightness, and single-mindedness are exactly where your misfortune lies. Have you ever thought that your "growth" symbolizes a primitive, brutal forth that is apt to go wild? Have you ever noticed that your "growth" is just the wanton sprawling of life in nature, without any consideration of eugenics? Don't you know that in your chest, fresh flowers and sweet fruits have to flounder through the weeds and darnels for a bit of nutrition they need?
Summer: My respectable friend, are you in tears? Are you crying? What you have said shocks me. How can you blame me for this?
Autumn: Oh, yes, my brother, it looks like I am a little less enthusiastic, but my tempered warmth is hidden in my heart, like hot blood being cooled down and congealed.
Summer: Looking at you, I suddenly feel like I am looking at someone new. I now see something new in you and I am amazed by it…My respectable older brother, just a minute ago, I caught sight of your eyes glowing with enthusiasm. What a beautiful pair of eyes they were! What stately and lofty charm they convey, along with the facial expression that reveals your mature thinking! Oh, my supreme God, why don't you also bestow the same beauty on me?
Autumn: Thank you, brother, but you will have eyes like mine later, just as I had eyes like yours before. Although we were born with our respective merits and demerits, we cannot force ourselves to be one another. But in fact, we were also born a pair, related to each other, and inseparable from each other. Without growth, what would warrant ripeness? Without ripeness, what would secure the birth of new life?
From the sky, the serious and solemn voices are fading away. The winds are rolling in the pinewoods, whistling aloud; the waves are sweeping on and off the sandy beaches, lapping aloud. The dark mountain crags look up into the horizon, as if murmuring: Until next year, until next year!