All I know is that a cuckoo's crisp cry on a foggy branch passed through my dream softly and clearly. I had a dream that was half awake. I slipped and woke up.
Oh, this morning mist, full of sunny dreams, is still hurting and crying. The edge of the injury is unclear. Maybe the birds at the top of the forest know the fuzzy edge of the fog, the fuzzy edge on the other side of the edge, and the fuzzy shadow floating up.
I'm used to smoking a cigarette in bed at this time. In the firelight of fireworks, I went to salvage the dream that started at night, the dream eye on the weaving line in the dream, and used the gesture of salvage to salvage the faint light memory stored in the dream eye. Perhaps, this is my eccentric habit, they try to find the flash of dreams, fresh flashes, floating flashes of light.
I remember in the silent firelight. My dream last night is still very clear. They are the sunshine on the sail and the shining souls on the bright sail. I also recalled that I drifted to a strange place inexplicably, and there were vague shadows everywhere. There were black fog in the vague shadows, no sun, no stars and no moon, so cold, so cold! It seems so cold that I forgot it this morning.
Sitting at the head of the bed, looking at the fog that got into the room, I smoked a cigarette that was still on. In the meditation of fireworks, I felt like I was on a lonely boat. The ship is full of wind, and the tip of the wind is covered with countless seaweed. Below the weeds are countless reefs and eddies, and below the eddies are deep wells. There is a cold monster sitting in the well. He has lost his soul. He will only open his mouth and swallow the sails on the water and the freshness of swimming and breathing on the water.
I coughed, the fog dispersed in half, and the fog in the yard gradually dispersed. I got up and went out. The sun in the fog has burned half of the fog, and the dead fog is faintly visible on the branches. The hands on the treetops are welcoming the sun, and the wings of birds emit a thin luster, full of the color of the sun, shining like a canvas of the sun floating in the air; However, their eager flight attitude and courage in attitude pierced the ban of this fog.
I walked to Tianlong Village outside the yard. The foot of the fog is extremely weak, and in the blink of an eye, the fog is dead. Little green nameless grass, surging layer by layer; Sunshine, soft waves; There is also the warm early spring March wind, gently rocking the dream of awakening flowers.
On this early spring morning, I picked up the tender petals and green light in my eyes, all like pearls and all like pearl eyes.
Ah! They got up early and went to the Sun Temple, bowing down and praising the clearest, brightest, purest, freshest and truest symbol of the soul.
On the way back, it suddenly occurred to me that the shadows of the dark forces in the fog opened their mouths to devour the deep wells in the black whirlpool of the sun's light. At this time, were they in God's hell-repentance?
The more I think about it, the more I feel. The skeletons in hell, their dead dirt and dust, are trampled on the ground by the world!
Suddenly, in the weeds on the ground, a dead insect, with an empty shell on the ground, groaned and trembled. With the fresh wind from the sun, the soul flew into a mud river, and the waves and sand sank.