In the early morn, strolling amidst the rice fields, I invariably encounter the azure heavens. The slumbering clouds have yet to awaken, leaving the sky pristine and translucent. A gentle zephyr caresses, while the sapphire hue of cornflowers extends to the summits of verdant mountains. On occasion, early clouds laboriously traverse the mountain’s far side, their corpulent forms struggling to ascend. At this juncture, long-forgotten memories, veiled in dust, emerge silently. My grandmother, in days of yore, delighted in our moments together atop the rooftop, gazing at the cerulean expanse, and engaging in profound discourse. Though advanced in years, my grandmother may not fully comprehend my tribulations, yet she refrains…