YaKun night reading 丨 A snow running on the road of the new year (with sound)

Snow particles arrived in their hometown before snowflakes, and fell asleep to the sound of the piano played on the earth by the snow, and more hope sprouted in The New Year's notes in Ruixue.

Heavy snow covered the village, and the exposed nostalgia was waiting to be recognized one by one. The river cannot distinguish the direction of its flow, frozen in the arms of winter snow to find a home. The riverside was the lowest I had ever seen in the four seasons, and standing on the shore, I could touch her calmness with my hands. In the cold of the willow tree being cut off, I needed to desperately go to the old time to turn over her hanging face. Some roses that like to reach out and climb high in the sun are always hidden in the season and disappear in the snow.

Hometown, in the whole cold and silent night, finally has the soul of winter.

In the New Year of the hometown, when this snow with a soul arrives, the breath of xiangrui is becoming more and more abundant.

Immersed in the smoke of the silver-clad plain, it is a white that can be distinguished at a glance. The trembling jade figure of the leaves revealed a light green, the birds hid in the depths of the yellow grass, and the early morning firecrackers ushered in the New Year's flavor, which suddenly pulled me into the New Year's celebration when I was a child.

The bright red of a place and the big red lantern swaying at the door shine together, and life and things unfold in a pure and pure artistic mood.

Snow, sketching the land of deep miss.

The land, in this picture scroll, sleeps and awakens, awakens and sleeps.

The taste of the year sets off the deep affection for the hometown.

The old and the welcome are stirred and precipitated, and the five flavors of the adult are mixed.

Yesterday's wind and rain road, with the paving of this snow, became more romantic, walking, it was dyed with white hair like the old age of parents.

At the end of the year when the sky was flying snow, stepping on the thick heart, looking at the several plums that bloomed poetry and philosophy under the cold blade, those life question marks that involuntarily grew in the heart seemed to have been answered satisfactorily.

Along the village, in the boundless sky, there was a falling rui leaf, which melted her cold bones into my flesh and blood, soaked into the depths of my heart, and carved into the memoirs of my hometown.

Gone or returned, frustrated or sad, become less important in the crevices between taurus and tigmaran. After whispering with a snow, all that's left is tenderness and love for the world.

The snow eventually became water, from the sky to the dust, and finally into the river, moistening the homeland and nourishing life. Like a seed sown in the heart of the hometown, quietly surviving the cold winter, running on the road to the New Year without hesitation. At the end of the year, the spring of the growth of all things will soon be playing a song on the earth, and it will be a bright dew that will take root and sprout in the dust.