The most moving thing is the mountains in Hualien. It is not the majesty of a single mountain, but the peaks are connected, winding like a dragon, and lying like veins. From a distance, it looks like smoke and painting, and from a close distance, it is green and clean. The rugged places are majestic without anger, and the gentle places are like the palm of an elder, stable and tolerant. In the early morning, the mountain mist is low, like a dream, and the sunlight flows through the gaps in the clouds, and the mountains are full of light; in the evening, the afterglow reflects the overlapping shadows of the mountains, like poetry and wine, intoxicating the sky and people. The mountains in Hualien are not ostentatious, not noisy, and do not need to say much. It tells the years in silence and cultivates all living beings in silence. Many people who come to Hualien unknowingly slow down their pace and put down the noise in their hearts. Because the mountains here have a kind of gentle firmness, as if saying to the world: "You are good enough, you don't have to run." Walking on the country road in Hualien, the mountains on both sides are continuous, the rice waves rise and fall with the wind, and the streams are gurgling like poems. Occasionally, birds chirp through the forest, but it does not disturb the view, but only adds a bit of life. The breath of the mountains, wind, and clouds gently caresses my cheeks and my heart.