The tenderness of winter
Wen Xingyu. A roll of winter sunshine.
Fall on the half-cut east fence.
It's like time has forgotten the windbreaker that has been retracted.
Restless westerly winds.
Under the cover of frost.
Again and again, I want to be in the wrong.
Try to open it to see what is going on.
Winter enthusiasm.
Revealed all the things on my mind.
The fallen leaves are still flying.
Waiting for the next year to return to green.
The snow in the north is frantically wrapping the branches of the roadside trees.
And the northwest wind in the south of the Yangtze River is hitting passers-by.
People rushed back to their unheated houses.
Turn on the hot air conditioner.
Looking out of the window.
The mountains and rivers are already desolate in winter.
The four fields are sleeping, and the grass is green.
The water under the bridge was shivering.
The ice condenses and the jade is clean.
And the awning boat carrying the acacia.
It's still clean and elegant.
An old plum tree on the shore.
It is pregnant with flowers.
Swaying alone. Not willing to be lonely.
Winter is cold. The wind and snow are even more atrophiing.
Winter seems to have become a symbol of brutality and coldness.
And through this surface.
Winter hides grace and gentleness.
An icy cold. It's not surprising that flies and mosquitoes freeze to death.
A snow break. How many crops are protected from damage.
Red plum blossoms. Smile proudly.
Ruixue Trillion Year.
Take a trip to a distant place with love.
Go to the plateau. 
Go to the mountains.
Where the sun is not too strong.
Bring a few thick clothes.
Waiting for a person who is destined to be thinly dressed.
Wait for the warm breeze to blow at this moment.
That's the tenderness of winter.