残阳,残年。树木在凛冽的寒风中老去,原本虬劲的枝条已承受不住过重的积雪,弯了下来,在漫天飞雪中孤独地摇曳。他也老了,他的头发已变得和窗外飘着的雪花一个颜色,近乎透明的白却掩藏不住岁月的凄凉……他是一个画家,这一生虽未蜚声海外,但也算小有名气。他爱画,不为别的,只是一种单纯浓烈的热爱,可深厚的感情终抵不过岁月的 Sun, residual years. The trees grew old in the biting cold wind, and the originally awesome branches had been overwhelmed by snow, bent down and swayed alone in the snowstorm. He is also old, his hair has become a color with the snowflakes floating outside the window, almost transparent white but can not hide the years of desolation ... ... He is an artist, although this life is not renowned overseas, but also a small Fame. He loved painting, not for anything else, just a simple strong love, deep feelings can be arrived in years, but