Someone enjoys his life in cage, while some guy belongs to the sky. Out of doubt, Tim is of the latter (though he is not a Superman). He is more akin to an albatross than me, but as to his bald head, I'd rather call him a griffon, just the giant we saw hovering over the mountain.
Wherever he is, on the peak of a mountain with gale blowing, or in a crowded car in a dusty metropolis, his eyes are always focusing on the sky. Birds play a crucial role in his life, not only in his eyes, but in his heart. Or, say, where old Tim is, there are birds with him.
One day After returning to Beijing, our little team went to a restaurant for dinner with Tim in his red overcoat, which was taken over from his father and said to be about 50 years old -- double my age! It appeared really too old so that when it was taken off, downs left on his business suit inside. We kidded, "Oh, Tim, look! You have grown feather." Tim looked and replied, "Oh, yes. But not enough (to fly)."
Later, Tim added, "It's also OK, if some feather large enough." With a second of hesitation, "But it doesn't matter. Eventually, I'll be able to fly, in the heaven. If you want to see, then you have to fly there too."
One can fly, because he believes so.
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