An encounter is an encounter and an arrangement that is destined

On a winter afternoon, a sudden relaxation after many days of hard work, people feel like an empty skin bag, and the soul is empty. Thinking of measuring the distance to work with my footsteps and time, I threw my skin and soul into the cold of the sea mercilessly. Follow the undulating and lonely avenue, slowly moving from east to west.

The iron-gray clouds were low, very dark, like a cold cloak, wrapped around me, wrapped around the avenue, wrapped around the city, wrapped around the earth, wrapped around winter. The wind swaying from east to west, mixed with the cold air, like the colorless cold liquid filled with the holy grail of the earth, the city, the roads and me struggling powerlessly inside. The evergreen trees on both sides of the avenue, hung with green leaves, were so gaunt and so helpless. Dark brown and light brown sycamore leaves, lying quietly in any corner. There are occasionally a few remnants of sycamore leaves on the branches, struggling to make a final farewell to the branches, in the gray sky, crossing a curved and lonely line, looking for the final destination, like a broken string, flowing out of the last winter song... The winter sycamore instantly filled my empty skin bag and empty soul.

There were no pedestrians on the road, cars coming and going with souls full of hope and disappointment, only to hear the wheels break free from the shackles of the tarmac and emit a string of "fluttering... Fluttering...", like a song of hope, but also like a cry of disappointment. Walking up the bridge that spans the river valley, the avenue is empty, the lonely bridge, the lonely me, there is no disappointment to come, there is no hope of going, only to hear my own faithful heart, jumping in the empty skin bag. Only to hear my own solid footsteps trampling on the past, stepping on the present, stepping on the bridge, stepping on the future, stepping on the other shore.

see! Sandwiched between the plane tree and the camphor tree, a bunch of begonia trees that have been boiled through the cold winter, the proud bone after the frost and snow is so stretched, the branches, hung with light green and light brown flower buds, the flower buds are covered with light brown hairs, like countless hands in the final struggle with the winter, it is also as if countless hands are waving to the spring, like a thousand good wishes, gently looking at the new year, wanting to break through the buds, breaking through the winter, spitting out red, white, yellow petals.

An encounter is an encounter and an arrangement that is destined. Spring flowers and autumn moons in the seasons, summer and winter snow! Life encounters love and hate, encounter love and sorrow! Meet the person in your life! Meet that love! Encounter a beautiful mistake! Encounter loneliness and loneliness! Meet joy and passion! Encounter the noble and the mediocre... In the face of opportunities that cannot be escaped, let alone escaped, I will cherish them and use the years to mellow them into a pot of wine. Just like this winter afternoon, encountering both the winter Xiao Suo and the life tension of the begonia in xiao Suo is a kind of beauty, both plump and full of my empty skin bag, and my empty soul.