The cold winds of the cold winds have ruthlessly eroded the youthful colors of the mountain villages, and the mid-winter season has arrived as promised. In the eyes of most people, mountain villages are symbols of poverty.
In the direction of the cold wind, there are fallen leaves and flowers all over the ground, and there is mourning everywhere. The years have faded away from the ancient splendor of the mountain village, but what remains is the vicissitudes of a hundred years and the loneliness of a thousand years. If the big mountain village does not have birds singing, no flowers, no smiles and warmth.
The old land turns over the sorrows of the old and forges new sorrows. Years have drawn deep wrinkles on the face of the mountain village. God cruelly imprisoned her happiness and sweetness, but unleashed the poverty and decay that did not belong to her.
The last afterglow of the sky tilted down, but it did not add a touch of color to the mountain village and rendered her bleak life. The so-called happiness is a luxury fantasy, the so-called sweetness is an ethereal myth.
The setting sun indicates that today will pass forever, and a happy tomorrow is still to be envisioned, and it is worth waiting. Waiting for a hundred years has become the duty of the mountain village. Despite her annual disappointment, she still believes that the golden carriage of happiness is not far away, and that the angel of fate will eventually send lucky flowers.
The sky skimmed a touch of gray, and the mountain village was still waiting, waiting.
