Only by standing in front of the Twelve Apostles can one understand the power of "nature". The howling wind, the ancient waves beating against the sandstone, turning the rocky mountains into arches, which then collapse into pillars, and the pillars will eventually disappear. Any regret seems pretentious in the face of such a spectacular sight that leaves one speechless, like the traveler in ancient landscape paintings - a touch of light ink, optional yet essential, like the soul of ink. This is a lesson in aesthetics.