When Hayao Miyazaki said these words, his cartoons were on the screen: Nausicaa was walking through the woods with a gun on her back, the bright red plane piloted by Porcupine was flying across the sky, and Parker was heading towards Sida. Running all the way in the pipeline, the masked Princess Mononoke galloped like a ninja on the tiled roof, Chihiro was lying on the top of the white dragon and flew in the clouds, and the cat bus grinned and shuttled through the high cables. On, Kiki rides a black cat on top of a broom and has a bird's-eye view of this bay city with red roofs and blue tiles, the wind blows her skirt and swaying randomly, Jinyuji laughs and jumps from one fish-shaped wave to another, Hal. Holding Sophie, he descended from the sky step by step like walking down steps, overlooking the hustle and bustle of the crowd below. Finally, the white paper airplane swept over Horikoshi Jiro's head at a low altitude, blowing his hair, and disappeared into the twilight distance.
Watching this series of scenes, I couldn't help myself anymore, and I had the urge to cry. Hayao Miyazaki, who has always observed the world with a childlike innocence, is far away from me, and I miss him very much.
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