See the sun in winter

After a few incessant and cool rains, and then waiting for the winter wind to blow, I saw a few leaves that had gradually turned yellow. And it is not a golden tree, but also stubbornly resisting the heavy tugging of the wind (zhuai ye) and the endless tugging of the earth' core, how come you don't know how to compromise and be flexible? Or did it make you so early? Sloppy thoughts, but also to see people tired. Looking up is still white clouds and blue sky, but since then the sun is difficult to come, and the morning fog is always there.

Flowers bloom, but no snowflakes fall, as a mountain city person, it is inevitable to look forward to and yearn for the endless snow flying at will in the northern style. Depictions such as "the waves crash on the shore and roll up a thousand piles of snow" help me imagine the poetic scene in my heart - who said that the lyricist Su Shi was not also looking forward to it? North China Plain, wrapped in silver, Taihang Mountains, snow full of thousands of mountains. It seems that the love of the compatriots there is richer, because the embrace on the snow day is warmer, and I have heard that there is a word called snow falling whitehead. The snow in Jilin is always fluttering endlessly, and the rime is a bonsai that nature gives to human beings, but this crystal clarity is probably difficult to resist the fog, it is difficult to fall into my heart, and it is in vain to increase my thoughts. The west wind does not teach people to travel north, and the remnants of the sun burn through the ice.

Day and night alternated secretly between our eyebrows, and they tried and tried. In this way, the frost and cold gradually rise, increasing the countless idle hours of looking out the window, and a little more wanton imagination under the warm confusion of the window - it can also be said to be wild thoughts.

In that floating dynamic, I stood on the bank of the river in Jiangnan countless times, without friends, without relatives, without lovers, solipsism and heaven and earth, exploring loneliness and tranquility. I closed my eyes, felt the kindness of the air with my skin, felt the murmur of the wind with my ears — and I saw everything that came after the eyelids were closed —

A three-dimensional painting, looming through the mist of fairy frost, drifting unscrupulously in the gap between the mirror images of Tianshui. It was as if I could see through the gray red ship board that was obscured by candlelight. She was dressed in plain white and waited for the night dew to climb. I shuddered, what was I expecting? So she moved the screen to move the fan, the color first makeup, and then a little thinner than the beautiful sunset. Yiren put on makeup, eyebrows drooped, a smoke and rain throat floated out, and in an instant it was hazy in the distance, hazy in the sky, hazy on the ground, hazy on you, I. The hazy beauty is not hazy itself, but under the hazy silence and distance, the joy of the heart can flow unimpeded to the limbs and flow into every intricate blood vein.

She is a Raider, and she is also a thriller. I blinked, she shattered, and suddenly saw the cold mist condensing from Aoba's veins into a tear, more rounded, more and more falling, until it suddenly fell, startling endless ripples, at this time, only to allow myself to let go of the breath that had been held for a long time. Looking at the fishing fire again, it had already urged the lone boat to go away, and the ornaments on the bow of the boat rose and fell vaguely, as if to make me see the white dress again, and when she closed her eyes and lowered her head, the su hairpin secretly cocked.

It went to the edge of the sky, cut the sunset, overlapped the sunset, and they faded away together, and the beauty and the beauty dissipated together. Without too many fantasies, so everything is satisfied, but no one will mind in a place where we often ask for surprises at sunset. And in this way, there is no need to have regrets when the night comes, such as the end of life, it is also light and smooth.

The books on the shelves may not have been read by me, but the small cases by the window are all loved and well-read, and they refuse to go away, so they are placed next to them, so that they are like shadows. I love every word hidden in their bodies. After reading books for many years, I have been staring at the square words too many times. They form sentences, make poetry, and make articles. Are the feelings contained in the article expressed freely, are they lyrical, or do they do their best to stir up tears? Or with this, after sensational thinking, it is precious. And using the most delicate forehead emotion in the author's heart, it shows the blandness of talent and beauty, and it is also a kind of fullness. Therefore, you can also use the article to intoxicate yourself, look forward to the future of self-empathy and the current author, as for the honor of being approved by others, it is regarded as a beautiful thing that cannot be forced. The wind blows the ink dry, and then look back, I am the most proud of my own world.

Look at the world and observe the colors of the characters. Some people are depressed, some people are philosophical, and some people are not confused and clear. Some people are hanging, some people are safe, and some people's hearts are lighter than the heavenly masters.

The spring wind rewards all things in the world with clarity, thousands of purples and thousands of reds; the summer bird directs the willow waist and limbs to dance, and the sun is long-lasting; the autumn leaves reflect the golden fruits in the sky, floating with sorrow; the winter snow catalyzes the fragrance of the corner plum and spreads hope. The four seasons of the year are the life of a person, and the four seasons are repeated in my life, or do I reincarnate between the four seasons and the four seasons? Every snow that dances with the wind is different, and every leaf that falls is distinct, but whether they are you or not.

Ask softly, only self-knowledge. In the human painting, you and I jump up, eyebrows jump, fate involvement, we get together. Thank you for meeting, grateful for knowing each other, even in the years of wind and snow, all things are promised and not forgotten.

The journey of life is tortuous, the ups and downs are difficult to say, not a river is flat, and how, there are dreams like light wings, standing on the ridge.

I wish I could see every dawn curtain embrace the morning birds, and let my overflowing yearning also shuttle between the clouds.

I hope to see every twilight wind with the moon into water, quietly flowing into the heart of who, compiling jade pillows thousand wheels of moon to get dreams.

I hope to cherish every sleepless late night, staring at the moon hanging in the sky, waiting for the breeze to pass, and illusioning people who will leave forever.

I have a lot of hopes, hope for all the good that can be thought of. I am not stingy with hope, and I am never shy about reveling in a light, clear imagination. The beauty is fleeting, and when things are undecided, you can ask the spring breeze.

As the years go by, youth doesn't have to dissipate. People say, if I am a teenager again, one or two gold and one or two winds, but I believe even more that the years have never defeated the beauty - we are our own beauty, may each of us, even if the white hair is also red, may each of us be the most proud of our own world.