Midsummer is gone, but the flower soul is still there.
Filtered out by the cold wind, the silver flowers are full of flowers, and they are in full bloom in the middle of winter.
Time flies, the end of the twilight years, next to the heating, warm days. By the small window, there is a pillow of light and shadow, watching the frost flowers bloom leisurely.
The sun is no longer hot, and the frost flowers are becoming more and more bold in the favor of the cold, especially at night, growing out of control.
Through the fragrance of flowers, the snow is boundless, and the wind picks up a few pieces, which swirl and fall in the small courtyard.
The small courtyard swing is lonely because of winter. Next to the swing, there are no colorful butterflies on the flower platform.
The frost flowers are lonely, as if they are nostalgic for the colorful, romantic and fragrant, beautiful and short-lived.
Boiling tea, from the beginning of the year to the end of the year.
Taste the slight bitterness, taste the sweetness. Tea can reflect all things, and the four seasons are in it.
At this time, it is winter, the snow and frost are in the lamp, the honeysuckle is simmering, the window is shining, the window is melting, there is no need to go to the cold wind for the time being, it is the appearance of small happiness in the days.
After all, leisure interspersed with busyness is the favorite time.
The fragrance of tea overflows the light veil, the corner of the window is full of frost flowers, life is dyed with poetry, and a person sings out the silence of the house.
Winter is suitable for passing slowly, with the joy of leisure and the sadness of busyness.
In the season of farewell to flowers, frost flowers have come to the fireworks world, accompanying the lonely soul, and encouraging each other for the triumphant spring.
One year old and one withered.
In such a season, such a small city, in winter, there is no way to pile up flowers and trees.
So those words full of dust, under the teasing of a light tea, in the provocation of a window of plain flowers, were finally picked up by the owner, a joy, a melancholy.
I think about spring, and I don't forget about autumn.
In winter, the window is slightly cool, there is no longer a warm wind knocking on the window, there is no longer a silk rain hanging eaves, but there is snow and frost as a lining, there is tea and books as a companion, there is leisure, there is leisure.
So, this winter is so warm and warm, and I feel the love of the four seasons.
At noon, the sunny snow will erod.
At night, the eroded snow freezes.
This is a cold town, and under the shadow of the lights, the frost flowers are blooming one by one.
Idle to have nothing to do, boiling tea, through the frost flowers, in the lights of thousands of homes, reflecting the good story of winter.