This is a set of photos taken on the Narati Grassland in the north of Xinjiang, which is also a day of coincidence for me in Narati. “Narati Grassland” means "white sun slope" in Kazakh language, and “Narati'' also means "with the sun". Standing on the Narati Grassland, the pure blue sky and the unreal light, instead of making one feel dizzy, let one concentrate more on the vitality and natural force under one's feet and over one's head - this is also, in my mind, the unique temperament of the Northern Xinjiang. This is not my picture, it is just the mark that Narati prompted me to leave.

Every moment in Narati invariably reminded me of Camus' Jemila - a large grassland with no cracking silence. I could occasionally hear some echoes, the valley's ringing, the meadow's swirling. I hooked my back and stood fully relaxed on top of the meadow, but I couldn't tell if it was coming from the other or from within me. “There are places where the spirit dies for the birth of a reality that becomes exactly what it denies”.

Narati stayed behind me, the sorrowful chanting of Narati's mountains, the giant eagles hovering in the azure sky without flying high, every lamb nestled in the arms of a child, every teenager's shy smile and whispers among companions, every horse in the center of the meadow, every sudden and short movement of the herd, every moment when the birds take off. I was suddenly aware of the bitterness and happiness behind this grassland.

<那拉提的风>