Snow Falling in Spring by Ming Li — Read

It took me over twenty years to return to my grandma Lao Lao's old courtyard in Beijing, where I spent much of my short childhood. I was shocked to find it gone. Bulldozed. Wiped from the face of the earth. It was like discovering that a dear friend had died and realizing I had been robbed of the last chance to say goodbye.

I sat on a pile of shattered gray bricks-the only remnants of my grandpa Lao Ye's labor-watching the brisk November wind lift the withered leaves from the dusty ground, up and up and away from me.