In winter, the cold wind howls. In the morning, I walked around the corner, doing nothing. I feel very cold. Walking in the street, I saw several old garbage collectors looking for things that people discarded.

An old man passed by and I looked him up and down. So the old man looks over 60 years old, with a pale and messy beard on his vicissitudes of life and his nose flushed with cold. He was wearing a shabby little felt hat and tattered layers of thin clothes, but those clothes couldn't keep out the cold at all. He hobbled along with a big bag of junk and a pair of old army shoes.

Suddenly, the old man's eyes focused on a bag of things in front of the door. He was ecstatic and rushed to it. Finally, he touched the bag. The old man stretched out his thin and black body, ready to explore. Strangely, his hand suddenly froze in the air and stopped. He didn't continue to explore. In an instant, he retracted his hand and slowly left.

Why? Why didn't he pick up this unnecessary thing? I want to have a look.

Just as I was about to start work, another old woman who picked up junk rushed into the bag. Her behavior is exactly the same as that of the old man: she raised her thin hand but stopped in the air. After a while she slowly left.

I'm more confused. I'm determined to have a look.

I ran to the bag, and what I saw was: several boxes of intact gifts and some unopened drinks. ...

My doubts have finally been solved.

The cold wind is still howling, but I don't feel cold anymore.