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Spring blossoms, time is quiet, you and I are unharmed
Text | Zhang Shuping Recitation: A Thousand Paper Cranes
In the end it is spring that is coming.
Therefore, the sun always carries a little warmth, the wind is no longer so mean, the air has more affinity, and the heavens and the earth have been soaked with a soft light...
In the chaotic depths of the strange, the life that has slowly awakened once again radiates mysterious solemnity, so that the feelings rooted in the depths of the earth are pulling out their own height and freedom upwards.
I always feel that spring is suitable for fantasy. After waking up from a dream, there should be too many complexes to sort out, too many longings to pursue, too many missions to carry...
The heart of life, after the deep sleep in the cold and windy season, always longs for a grand run to show in the world. With the most sincere emotions, with the most beautiful posture, restore to the world a warm spring blossom.
"The snow disappears outside the door, a thousand mountains are green, and the flowers and hair by the river are sunny in February."
When the most beautiful snowflake in the cold wind quietly leaves, deep in the ice, there are buds of spring water, like a hundred tones, gently entering the strings of the landscape. Time is easy to throw people away, green plantains, red cherries. In the cold wind, the red plum reflected the snow bushes; the spring rain came, and thousands of trees and pear blossoms bloomed.
"Autumn is full of beautiful mountains, and spring is full of flowers."
The face of time, warm as a summer flower, brilliant like autumn fruit, quiet like winter snow, and only the breath of spring, always wraps the whole meaning and mission of vientiane in the world, because it is the departure of dreams, it makes the first new life clean on the strange.
Winter is a kind of deliberateness and storage for all things. "There is a deep meaning in this, and I have forgotten to argue." The true meaning of life is probably like this, without the autumn wind pieces, how to get the spring rain; without the winter frost and snow cold, where there is time warmth. Therefore, winter is both precipitation and experience, deep sleep and evolution. It is a cold wind note, and it also concludes the dream petals of spring.
Winter went to spring, and the dream woke up the flowers. "When you know the east wind, thousands of purples and thousands of reds are always spring." After all, spring is a cradle of growth dreams, grass long warblers fly, peach red willow green; butterfly dance bees fly, swallows back to whisper; style rain, clouds and water lingering.
A season's monologue is so uncompromising.
Spring is like the soft light of the first sun, just like the sweet face of a baby, like the makeup of the pond water lotus shadow deep valley Youlan, the seemingly quiet character, has given birth to the growth of all things; in the seemingly peaceful weather, but sowing the hope of life.
Spring has flowers and winter has dreams, and summer language bears the autumn wind overnight. The mountains and rivers are a journey, the wind and snow are a few more, and the footsteps of time stretch the figure of the years longer and longer; the color of life paints the taste of the world more and more intensely.
The sun and the moon alternate, everything goes and goes, only the dark fragrance of time and shade often shuying sleeves, only the fluttering wind and clouds start again and again...
I know that there is not a spring that blooms without dreams. The story that stirred up the four seasons will be written and interpreted in the growth of the new students.
The complex of life is more or less like this. Easy to come, easy to go, this spring, summer, autumn and winter of the eternal love.
Red dust is like water, flowing through the strangeness of time, and in the long river of years, there are always endless human love words, like the blossoming of a tree and a tree, decorated with the color of time;
There is always an inexhaustible feeling of life, such as the annual change of seasons, never stopping, never fading.
Shu Lan painted a micro-journal