In the silkworm house of my hometown, the square-shaped silkworm rearing frames always quietly appear in late spring. The neatly arranged squares are like fine lines of poetry woven by the earth, each one carrying the sweet dreams of the silkworms and the hopes of the silkworm farmers for the future. In my memory of my hometown, every household would raise silkworms, and countless silkworm farmers wove this land into a silk town. My grandma was one of them. I still remember the first time I saw the square-shaped silkworm rearing frames, playing with them by hand and asking my grandma with a smile what they were. Later, after leaving my hometown for many years, silkworm farming gradually disappeared in the rural areas of my hometown, but the image of the square-shaped silkworm rearing frames became increasingly clear in my memory. I saw the square-shaped silkworm rearing frames again in the corner of a warehouse, piled up haphazardly, some fallen and some collapsed. They silently curled up in the passage of time, witnessing the seasonal changes of the silkworm farmers in my hometown. Here, the silk threads that connect the wanderers with their hometown were born, one end entwined with the affection for the native land, and the other end tied to the hearts of the wanderers longing to return.My works are both memories of my hometown and beautiful prospects for the future.