Some time ago, it was still warm summer-like weather, but recently it has changed, and after the temperature drops sharply, it is a hazy weather for days. A few days ago, there was another broken rain, with the wind. If it weren't for the reminder of the season, I would have turned the tide and quietly returned to early spring and February. It will also be sunny and rainy. For a while, the sun was shining, and the light was ** people, and then it rained like needles and threads, but there was a hint of flowers and plants in the wind.
Accustomed to picking up a few fresh flowers and young leaves in the plain text, rubbing them into the gaps of the text, hoping to bring you passing by, a trace of brightness, a trace of beauty, and a little inconspicuous obsession, looking forward to encouraging you.
In the sun, the windshield of the car on the street is clearly reflected in the warm sun. On the sidewalk, the speed of leisurely travel, waiting for a man and woman to rush back and forth.
The holly on both sides of the street, as well as the maple leaves that are almost discolored, swayed and flipped in a cold wind, making a few familiar rustling sounds.
I don't know why the cold wind with a little bit of temperature is so diligent, so diligent that I arbitrarily drill my sleeves, pull silk, scarf my neck, and even search my body, wantonly flipping the corners of my clothes that are not fragrant.
The footsteps of habit always can't help but bring themselves into a familiar and lingering situation.
In the flood season at the turn of summer and autumn, both sides of the river. Now he is shallow enough to see the figure. The port of Huanxi had to move forward from time to time due to the drop in water level. The woman got up, her crimson fingers exuding a trace of unconsciously hot air. The circles of water left behind behind him, layered with the sun and stars, rippling with a pool of warmth, like a beautiful ripple kneaded into the heart.
The wind caresses the heart of the waves, and the waves are chaotic. The oblique rod is near the window, and the dream fish swims.
The aunt who caresses the rod and serves the fish, is not finished talking. I still don't forget to carry the bucket to show the three-tailed small fish that I have fished for a long time, like the trophies of triumph on the battlefield, and my happiness is written on my face in the cold wind and frozen red.
The three-storey building "Jiangnan in the world", listening to this name, there is a trace of the beauty of Jiangnan charm in spring. Standing on a high place, the small landscape town has a panoramic view. The high-rise buildings stand tall and the houses and shops behind the high-rise buildings are scattered and row upon row. Dazzling and sparkling in the sun. Like a landscape painting under the painter's hand, it is bright and beautiful.
A couple of older men and women sit leisurely side by side on the wooden benches on the second floor, like a pair of old friends in life. From time to time, they talk to each other, as if chatting about the shortcomings of parents. The woman knitted the sweater in her hand as she spoke. One needle and one thread, the eye of the needle is fine, and the technique is skillful. The finished part is dense and thick. I seem to be reciting the Tang Dynasty poet Meng Jiao's "The Wanderer's Yin": the line in the mother's hand, and the wanderer's shirt. Before leaving, I am afraid that I will return late.
When asked why he still knitted his own clothes instead of buying one. The woman explained that it was idle anyway, so it was better to move your fingers and activate your body, and besides, you could save hundreds of dollars by making a piece of clothing.
The two of them heard my country accent, and before they knew it, they were up again. The atmosphere was immediately warm. He asked me where I lived, and then asked if I would sit down and talk.
suddenly remembered and took a beautiful photo of her weaving clothes. The woman was pleased. But maybe I'm worried, ** There are still a few pretty shadows on her face, and at the moment when she pressed the shutter of her mobile phone, she turned her face sideways, leaving only her back in the camera.
The remnant sun is like blood. The sun that had been enthusiastic and unrestrained all day gradually went west, snuggling in the picturesque scenery of the distance, dreamily intertwined with burning red, orange and orange, reflecting the nearby eaves, balconies, distant terraces, hills. Until the last trace of warmth of the day is projected, it quietly accumulates in the dark night, and the sunshine of tomorrow's beauty.