On a sunny spring morning, the air is slightly cool, and the lake in the suburbs is like a bright mirror.
The confusing fog is quietly dissipating, and the lake reflects the rising sun. The clear blue water is rippling quietly. I sit with my child by the lake, fishing rod in hand, fishing on the blue waves.
The little flowers are blooming dotted, the farmyard’s yellow chicks are darting in and out of the fence, and the old tabby cat is squatting by the lake, staring intently at the surface of the lake, watching the swimming in the lake from a distance. Fish, everything is peaceful and pleasant.
The smoke from the kitchen is drifting into the sky. This is a solitary farmhouse, surrounded by fields. Only this small courtyard with green bricks and gray tiles lies quietly alone, surrounded by deep and light green. , like the pastoral scenery in Tang poetry.
——"Dream of Spring" Tagore
The liquefied emotions in the spring rain finally couldn't bear the temptation of green and resolutely jumped off the clouds. To catch a spring. The spring breeze twists you into a long, long thread, and then throws it to the world. So the blank land was filled with lines of popular poems and exciting strong sounds. Grab a handful of spring rain, and the fragrance of birds and flowers will overflow from your fingers; take a sip of fine wine, and your heart will be covered with bees. Oh, spring rain! Beautician of nature, the earth is plump because of you, and the world is alive because of you. The morning dance squeezes open the door and wets me with the fragrance. Are they the colorful clouds on the horizon? Is it the tender sunshine of the willow branches that are just beginning to bloom? Too late, I became a spring chaser.
The morning is in a hurry, the traffic is in a hurry, and the pedestrians are in a hurry. The dust and depression of the city all night are now washed away by the morning mist. The mist moves mistily. It is getting thicker and thicker, losing its way, moistening the flowers, refreshing the heart, and licking the green of thousands of households and villages. The spring mist is a mystery, and the morning sun reveals the mystery. Pounce into
the green embrace and embrace the fiery red spring.
I don’t know whether it is people who make spring green, or whether spring awakens people.
In the bleak and monotonous winter, we are always looking forward to spring. I hope that her grass will grow with orioles flying, and the silk ribbons will flutter along the embankments. I hope that her thousands of trees and flowers will ripple on the blue waves. I hope that her orchids and cypresses will moisten everything as if they are crisp. I hope that her spring garden will be filled with beauty, and the flowers will fall like red rain.
Spring warms the heart and spleen, "My clothes are wet with the rain of apricot blossoms, and the wind from the willows is not cold on my face."
Spring is fleeting, "The flowers in the forest wither in spring." "Red, it's too hasty." So "there are flowers that can be folded, but don't wait for them to fall."
Spring is cool and moist. "No."
Spring, the wine is fragrant, "I asked where the restaurant is, the shepherd boy pointed to Xinghua Village"
Spring, the soul is haunted, "Where does spring go?" ? Lonely with no way to go. If someone knows where Chun is, call him back to live with me.
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