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Essay: Years, that's all

Essay: Years, that's all

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Essay: Years, that's all

April has come to an end again, the sun is pure and brilliant, the greenery is thick, and the beauty is self-evident.

Essay: Years, that's all

Peonies, roses, irises, rhododendrons, sorrels, etc., a clump, a cluster, pink, purple, yellow, white, bloom on the branches as scheduled.

Or elegant, or calm, or delicate, gorgeous and dazzling.

Walking among the flowers, as if walking in a picture scroll, I seem to have become a fairy in the painting.

Essay: Years, that's all

And the branches, the shining green has gradually become calmer, the light and shadow through the green leaves are also gradually rejoicing, the breeze is blowing on the path, the birds are chirping in the branches of the forest, and the ordinary days are a little more leisurely.

Essay: Years, that's all

In fact, as I have grown older and have experienced more, not only have people gradually become quiet, but their hearts have gradually settled, and the years seem to be quiet.

Maybe this is what the book says, a person's inner fullness and firmness, with age and age gradually increased.

And the time is leisurely, the scenery of the four seasons, the dense room of the complicated mood, the old thoughts, and the new thoughts, all gradually settle down or lighten in time.

Think of the same sorrow and joy, the same dull boredom, you can implant some other realms and tastes for the day in this or hustle or loneliness, then the sorrow and joy will naturally change some descriptions.

Essay: Years, that's all

In fact, spring, or summer, is just a period of time, how many attempted wishes, are slowly weathered in time, blurred, just like I used to be panicked, but now my heart is already in the pavilion.

What I gradually understood was that the heart has a far-reaching fragrance, the clouds and smoke are also the end of the world, and the withering is blooming.

And people exist in a corner of the world, in the rain, or under the sun, watching the southern geese return to the north and turning the stars, listening to the sound of the wind and the sound of the water falling in the ears, slowly understanding, the years, and so on.

Essay: Years, that's all

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