Perhaps, it is the alternation of time, perhaps, the cycle of life, perhaps, a warm encounter, perhaps, a helpless ending. In 365 fleeting moments, in the rush of a day, in 365 dripping and slow filters, in the suffering of the night, the autumn of love and hate came as scheduled.
Standing alone in the autumn water, thinking about the autumn wind, the thick autumn feeling, like coils of soft and hard vines, overwhelmed me, loosened me and blackmailed me tightly. In the end, only dull eyes are left to see autumn, only the thief smells autumn, and only the tangled heart misses autumn.
The autumn wind is silent, and the forest is dyed. The unspeakable autumn wind seems to come too fast. I haven't had time to say goodbye to the passionate bee butterfly in Dutch Dance. I haven't had time to finish the last sip of hot tea in Song of the Cicada. The wind closed the last wooden window in summer and quietly pushed open the first iron gate in autumn.
What is presented in front of us is a thick autumn. Although summer flowers are still falling in the cold autumn water, they are reluctant to go and sigh.
Autumn chrysanthemums, red, yellow, white and purple, seem to have put on glamorous clothes, and can't wait for black and pink to appear, only looking forward to their brilliant bloom, regardless of other people's tears.
The rich sweet-scented osmanthus has seized the place where the spring is full of charm and fragrance, and enjoyed the time, space and luck of thyme alone.
There are even yellow leaves and red leaves all over the mountains, which are gorgeous and crazy to the extreme. For example, in the desert all over the sky, rolling up the golden wind, blowing the incomplete and lonely green to distant corners, crying sadly, and like a surging red tide, pushing aside the waves all over the sky, smashing the green dream and sprinkling it on the vast beach.
Where the autumn rain floats, there will always be continuous thoughts and deep feelings, which will converge into smoke waves and deep water, and flow slowly and silently in the passing time. It has just rained, and it has only been an autumn, but I have seen all the spring, colorful summer and cold winter, as well as an autumn autumn, the separation of life and death, and the reincarnation of everything; I have also tasted the drowsiness in spring, the youth in summer, the sadness in autumn, the bitterness in winter, the ups and downs, and the world.
Autumn is a long wait. Like the night, waiting for the light. If there is no hope, there is hope if you wait. Such as green, waiting for sweetness. Like falling, waiting for rebirth. Like a freshman, waiting to wither.
Autumn is an affectionate farewell. A fallen leaf, bid farewell to the nostalgic branches. A bitter, bid farewell to the wind and rain. A white cloud bid farewell to the vast sky. A meteor bid farewell to the bright night sky. Light memories, bid farewell to yesterday's story. A memory, bid farewell to another memory.
Autumn emotions are inextricably linked, sometimes coherent, sometimes chaotic, sometimes calm, sometimes manic. Reasonable, reasonable, affordable, and can be put down. It is like a river flowing eastward, with poetry and distance. I am stuck in my heart, stuck in my arms, and I can't pull it out, just like an endless net, which makes people have nowhere to escape, raise their hands stupidly and obediently submit.
Autumn, such as mother's rice wine, moved out of the deep cellar, uncovered the altar cover of the years, and packaged ordinary days beautifully with thick fragrance. Qiu Si, like the grass smoke lit on my father's long cigarette holder, and the faint, dreamy blue fog, pervaded for a long time, like a faint sadness.
(Editor in charge: Deputy Editor-in-Chief)