I take flight, returning momentarily as a pigeon to the familiar surroundings and dawn scenes of the house where I grew up. I captured the sound of a pigeon's whining in the form of a painting. Let's say the unadorned house is filled with warmth and love, offering comfort while resiliently enduring the cold weather of the hilly region. The cold winter breeze passes through the small opening in the bamboo wall, casting a tiny spot of light. The firewood stacked against the front wall is coated with the misty water of winter, poised to reveal their beauty under the sunlight. Awaiting the warm morning sunlight in the cold winter breeze, alongside the unadorned house. The aroma of fried sticky rice cake, accompanied by the resonant sound of a triangular brass gong, envelops a pigeon in flight as it gazes upon the mist. The warm sunlight filters through the trees, branches, twigs, and leaves, dispersing the mist and gently caressing the compound here and there. The wild sunflowers at the front of the house also awaken, and the mist on the petals and leaves dissolves and glistens under the sunlight. The family feast next to the damson tree on the mountain slope is also ready. The pigeon takes a short break on a branch of an Indian trumpet tree at the entrance of a compound, observing its surroundings. He grants a respite to his wings, destined to fly until his last breath, as he envelops himself in the morning sunlight and the warmth of the house. Observing a group of people clad in layers of jackets, he spreads his wings and soars through the wind, indulging in the daydream of a pigeon.