Pick up flowers to make tea and drink a cup of years of love
Author: Yu Jia
No one outside the door asked about the falling flowers, and the green shade was rising all over the world.
Shen Congwen said: "All beautiful things have no home, shooting stars, fireworks, falling flowers..." Falling flowers, there is no home, when they fall from the bustling branches, bloom out of the last light, quietly end the moment, life blooms to the extreme.
Spring is the season of blooming, but there are always fragrant petals that fall in the wind and rain. Those flying petals seem to tell people that to live is like a flower, to bloom in beauty, even if it withers, it must pass away in the most beautiful posture.
The petals drift silently with the wind. I think that those colorful flowers, which bloom when they are warm and cold, but they are withering in the bustling spring, they live up to this life, walking red dust, there is no worldly trouble, only a faint joy, and the harvest is a tranquility and tranquility.
They give beauty to the spring, but they can be leisurely, do not invite credit to the sun, do not show off the grass, and embrace a light of time, the spring wind blooms when it comes, and the spring wind falls when it leaves. In fact, life is the same, there are as many calculations as there are troubles; as much calmness as there is, there is as much joy.
The world has a thousand forms, and people have ten thousand words. Walk your own path, see your own scenery, let the years pass, the vicissitudes of the world. There will be a parting when there is a reunion, there will be pain when there is joy, and the flowers and grasses of life, the cycle of the four seasons, all permeate the accumulation of years.
The year is like a brocade, purple and red dust, quietly keeping those warm times, in the year like water flow, those wisps of thought, bit by bit of gratitude, and those when they first met, forever in the heart.
Hike the green mountains, enjoy the spring light alone, fall in the colorful, and dance with the spring. Picking flowers to brew spring, burning fire to boil tea, watching warblers singing and swallow dances, butterflies circling the flower stream, lying in the overflowing fragrance, quietly feeling the leisurely life, drunk with time, leisurely.
Pillow with boundless spring colors, accompanied by a gentle breeze, revel in the petal heart fragrance, pleasant and peaceful. Watch the ebb and flow of the tide, appreciate the full moon and lack of moon, listen to the rain knocking on the window ledge, time is long, the clouds are light and the wind is clear, and the fragrance is fragrant.
There are no traces of time, there are traces of vicissitudes, looking back on the past, there are always some unusual left in the memory, bitterness, tears, laughter, touching... These emotions, firmly imprinted in the depths of our souls, are always inadvertently dancing like butterflies in our spiritual world.
Falling red is not a merciless thing, when the breeze blows on the cheeks, when the years pass by, we will rise an inexplicable sadness, like the falling flowers. May the years rendered by time, the hazy and dusty memories, retain the beauty at the bottom of the heart, pour a pot of the past, and slightly drunk in the dream.
Stroll through the years, lightly cut the time, chant gentle poetry, recite majestic words, laugh and keep the words, bring the past into the pen, gather the falling petals, grind into a stone danqing, and embellish the poetry lines of the season.
Walk on the edge of the season, pluck a bunch of spring light, paint a silhouette, ying a light look, hide a beautiful, pick flowers and boil tea, drink a cup of years of love!
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