Wen | Hongliu Editor | Shu for the pictures| are from the Internet
In September, the straightforward and quiet appreciation of the autumn sun accompanied by the ascension and long-distance.
Lavender is still nostalgic, once alive. Trekking in September, I clutched the old vine of the climbing tiger, and inadvertently, I glanced back at my own back, quietly and silently.
The September sky is filled with too much to look at. Some verses lingered in my heart, and I touched her eyelashes, but it was no longer difficult to draw the whole bright eye. Shallow winding around the clouds of smoke over the eyes of leisurely, sullen people, to the depths of the wind and rain, begging for a cup of osmanthus wine, moisturizing the heart.
The backpack is too heavy and I want to reduce the burden. The cold and warm of the season are set aside for a while, so that I want to tie myself to the untamed branches of an old tree, so that the unique loneliness of the night will calmly watch from spring to summer. Feel free to make an excuse, comfort yourself with the idea of slowly relaxing, and continue to rush through the ring with blood.
If the reason why the yellow leaves are tired can be understood by people, I really can't imagine what complaints the highest red leaves in the branches have about the north wind. Before the north wind was manic, he first concealed his crimson makeup, only to grind with the autumn frost ear sideburns lying on the ground.
The harvest is most realistic in September, replenishing the sweat and filling the fullness of the next season's seeds. Only by working harder can we understand the integrity of the earth, not by a momentary luck, nor by blindly rushing forward, calmly being self-contained after many times of grinding, and no longer need to show off cheaply to anyone.
In the face of the grain stack in the barn, in the face of the pomegranate seeds that you stack and squeeze, what floating names, all empty into idle nonsense, no care.
Capturing the triumphant heartbeat of the begonias, SaHuan'er greeted a tree of persimmons with golden oranges, no matter how clear the sun, he could not help but bow his head.
September is the sonorous sound of children's military training, opening their throats and shouting out the bold words of growth. September is the chalk of the teachers, squeaking and cultivating the blackboard. September is the big moon in mid-autumn, with thousands of lights and reunions around the world.
Walking in September, frankly discuss the rampant domineering of hairy crabs, prepare the coal burning in winter in advance, slow down all anxiety, pretend to be temporarily dull, indifferent to the plain face of Onoju, and listen to her muttering.
September is tired, September reed flowers are thin, September wild cranes are strolling, september, I cook a bunch of edamame, listen to the wind chimes slowly leisurely.
One Point Heart Dream Literature
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