The sun shone on his face, the warmth felt on his head, and he also deeply felt the strength of the qi and blood running in his back. At this time, if the destination is to meet with three or five friends to eat hot pot, watch movies, and drink milk tea, it is simply a kind of enjoyment.
The sun was shining, the heat was rare. The more rare it is, the hotter it feels, and the hotter it is, the more rare it feels. The temperature of this skin kiss is also like this, right?
I remembered my grandmother pushing the cart at the intersection waiting for me to come home, the winter at home must be warm, and my grandmother was warmer when she waited for me to come home. I was soaking up the sun, and my heart was warm, like grandma had been waiting for me.
I was intoxicated, and I couldn't help but laugh at the thought of it, all the pictures of my grandmother when she loved me. "Some people are waiting, and some people are looking forward to a beautiful day!" I walked down the road and said this out loud.
Arrived at the store at about ten o'clock and began the hot day, with a hard input in anticipation of the hot output, not to live up to the day's efforts. Every day, I return home at night, so that I have not seen the scene of daytime for a long time. Looking down from the hotel's floor-to-ceiling windows, the bare branches trembled, there was no snow, no birds, and pedestrians dressed in red or yellow, or black or white down jackets, shrunk around their necks, with their hands in their pockets, trying to fight off the cold. But the cold air is not easy to mess with, otherwise how can the fallen leaves leave the branches and drift with the wind?
Yeah, the more the wind blows at night, the more rampant it gets. Obviously, the fallen leaves had surrendered to it, and as they went, they still rolled up the storm again and stayed all night.
At night, there are few pedestrians on the road, and the fierce wind is wanton to show to whom?
Is it to scare people like me who have been walking on the road?
Is it a moment of reluctance to give up the freshness of regaining freedom after four seasons?
Is it a crazy cry, a promise to winter made after conquering the head of the four seasons?
Or is it pandering to the gentle and delicate snow that follows?
Let him go, I'm almost home.
I think that the frost gas that came out of the morning must have been swept away by him and "processed" into tomorrow's fog.
Let him go, I'm going to sleep.