I was originally a French flax plant nestled in the lap of the earth, whispering with the gentle breeze and embracing the sunlight each day. In the vast expanse of the fields, alongside my fellow flax plants, I experienced the purest rhythms of nature as the seasons changed. The soft spring rain would trickle down, rousing me from my slumber. The intense summer sunlight would endow me with the strength to endure. As the autumn wind swept by, I donned a mature tint. And the winter frost and snow would drape me in a pure, white blanket. One day, a man in a rush caught my eye. He stood at the edge of the field, his eyes heavy with fatigue and confusion. Gazing into the distance, he remained there for a long while. Perhaps it was my swaying form that drew him in. He approached slowly and gently stroked my leaves. At that moment, I felt the warmth of his fingertips and sensed his deep - seated yearning for nature.