The rain was drizzling, and the moisture had already filled the world. The long-lost rain came all the way with difficulty and bumps, and the lonely winter earth finally enjoyed the watering of the water. On the way home from work, I deliberately chose an alley to walk slowly. Watching the spring breeze gently shake down the string of curtains and rain, as delicate as smoke and fog, you will vaguely feel a kind of freshness.
Looking up at the rain, drop after drop of rain hit my face, and splashed into tiny water hazy my eyes, feeling the rain, as if it were a piece of green mint pasted on my face, a touch of cool and colorful rain flowers. Water vapor enveloped the city, and the concrete pavement of the alleys was wet and slippery to step on.
Walk carefully, not for fear of soiling my shoes, but for fear that I will fall into the arms of the spring rain like oil. The eaves began to drop low, there was no light, but you could still feel that it was a flower with buds in its bones, probably this is the messenger of spring, the prelude to the birth of spring flowers.
Looking at a few less dense holly trees in the alley, at this time, it is also energetic like a daffodil, and it is inevitable that people will describe its posture as "plain and elegant". Is it blinding, or is it raining heavily? I don't want to go too fast or be sheltered by rain gear, so I like to walk in the rain like this.
After several bends, I have walked into the depths of the alley, unconsciously, the body is already soaked in the rain, the rare spring rain makes me forget myself, not intoxicated, then what is it? I am a person whose feelings and thoughts are more delicate, sometimes a scene, a story can make me addicted, often unconsciously already in it.
There is an ancient locust tree at the corner of the alley, the dry branches are hung with raindrops, the outstretched branches are washed by the rain brush to show some green, faintly revealing the spring feeling, in the smoke and rain, my soul is also infected by the jumping spring. A curtain of smoke and rain, spring is lonely. Strolling through the alley, the heart is very quiet, looking up at the green bricks and red tiles, the front looks long and curved, the scenery begins to become vague, look back at the road that has been walked, there is no trace to be found.
I don't know why, especially when there is rain, there will be a faint sadness in my heart. Walking in the leisurely rain lane, I really long to be a small student in Jiangnan, in the hazy alleys of Jiangnan smoke and rain, with the sadness between the eyebrows, the love of the rain and the love of the intestines, pinned in the smoke and rain, wandering in my smoke and rain dreams. Walking out of the alley is like saying goodbye to the old man. The drizzle moisturizes the heart and the sorrow is long. When the east wind rises again, rely on the smoke and rain together, and watch the flowers blossom and fall.
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