The snow that has been waiting for a long time is late in the cold wind. The cold wind whistled through, the quiet ancient road, the yellow grass, swaying in the cold wind, flooded with a trace of sadness and desolation.
Love snow, hope for snow, can't catch snow.
There is no spring purple and red, no summer heat, no butterflies fluttering in autumn, only yellow herbs, and broken leaves. In such a season, there are six petals swaying, crystal clear. Quiet as a virgin, pure as ice and jade.
The world is full of flowers, and the red dust is rolling. The quiet ancient road, the encounter before it is too late, the flow of years is like water, and the face is poured out. The flowers blossom and fall, the years are hurried, and the tear marks that have been scratched have added a few new tears of longing. At the end of the song, people scattered, and the memories were full of prosperity.
Zeng Xu 3,000 pens and inks, painting the world's most beautiful city. Leaning on the tall building alone, looking at the end of the world. How nai sighed at the edge of the ancient road, at the end of the day. The snow night is like a shadow, is the Iraqi still there? Three thousand pens of ink, holding the pen down, lightly flowing with whose expectations and attachments, writing down the blankness of thoughts, like a snowy night, can you see whose sadness. In the next life, wait for a lute to melt away the desolation.
A cup of clear tea, lead Hua washed the heart. Walk through the years of light madness, indifferent to the world's sorrows. Laughing at the vicissitudes of life, memories are always unbearable, and thoughts are leisurely like snow.
Fireworks are easy to cold, and the lights are dimmed. Fireworks adorn the snowy night, so brilliant. There were tears and hearts in the attic. The long scroll of thoughts, the pen falls in an instant.
The cold wind is cold, the rain and snow are everywhere, and there are people waiting outside the window.
Photo/ Zhang Dalong Wen / Wang Xinhao
Editor/Wang Wan'er