The earth is still asleep.
I don't believe that strong winds can blow away the sounds and footprints on the earth. Frog drums, insects singing, birds singing ... every sound of nature is the foundation of grasping the earth. And the human footprint will only make the earth more open and fertile.
? I would like to lie in a piece of soil.
A strong wind blows over me and will get nothing.
I heard the trembling pulse of the earth-
The tender buds of tender leaves slowly spit green.
The howling of the wind can't hide the truth that is happening. Even if it is minimal, the jointing of the truth is enough to make the earth quiet and full of vitality.
Mankind's trek, like this, never lacks curiosity and courage.
The gale is just a sight on the earth.
The earth will eventually wake up.
The strong wind will not stop.
When I walked across the earth today, it was actually a gust of wind.
You can't take anything,
But still blowing forward.
A strong wind blew across the river.
I never search and track the whereabouts of rivers.
Down the river, noble and humble, so that the village has smoke, sweat and rice fragrance, so that human migration can be traced and documented.
Rather than a strong wind blowing across the river,
On the contrary, rivers provide road maps and timetables for strong winds.
I can understand Gail's intentions.
But I don't agree that turbulence is more valuable than tranquility, and upward is more meaningful than downward. There are thousands of gestures in nature. Why should we stubbornly choose one?
The human mind can always open another window for us.
Outside the window, a strong wind is blowing across the river. And we,
This is the spray in the river.
Strong winds blow over mountains and rivers.
The fog of fallacy cannot cover the face of truth. Nature's uncanny workmanship makes the truth confusing and makes it more fascinating and thrilling.
Mountains and rivers are reliefs that rise from the ground, graceful and solemn.
I stood in the wind,
It seems to be related to every mountain.
Yes, the earliest discovery of truth by human beings did not come from a scientific experiment, but from a conquest of mountains and rivers.
Today, our footprints are still engraved on the mountainside.
Today we live in an era because we still have the ideal of pursuing truth.
Today, we are curled up in the strong wind to keep warm, and we are still walking a tortuous road together.
I'm sure the truth will still stand where it is-
What the wind blows away is hazy clouds, which is an illusory fallacy!
Relief under the sun.
I can feel the feeling of being blown by the strong wind, that is
Time is waving goodbye to me,
Truth makes my dreams wander around.
A strong wind blew through the Woods.
A dry sound fell on the wet grass.
A lush leaf floated into the sparse echo.
Woods full of strong winds,
It's like we had a glass of hard liquor and couldn't control ourselves.
I thought the tree was a hero. No matter how hard the wind blows, it stands still. Now, the tree is crying and talking, the tree is bending and breaking its arm, and the tree is suffering great damage and destruction.
However, the heroic spirit of the tree is even more immature.
I admire such a hero Even if he succumbs to suffering, he will bloom an acre of green romance for the earth.
Such heroes are rare in life.
I like heroes with flesh and blood, love and hate, pain, sadness and joy.
Heroes should not be far away.
The hero may be a passer-by, or he may stand on a tree in the strong wind on the side of the road, visible and tangible. If so, a moving tree will walk among us, talk, and bring the joys and sorrows accumulated by human beings into life.
Life is dense into a forest,
I'd like to go in and give myself some freedom to breathe.
The wind blew all night.
A star withered. Our ancestors drilled wood for fire and danced wildly to celebrate the new life when the umbilical cord fell off.
I mourn this star. because
It drove away the desolation for our ancestors.
The stars bloom into flowers at night.
Seven stars and Beidou, divination and divination, the simple imagination of our ancestors opened a mysterious and wonderful world! When the flowers are gone, the road to the unknown will become barren.
So, I mourn for a star. This is a memorial service.
The brilliance of flowers.
Human conscience will give imagination wings to fly.
Since the wind doesn't care about the stars, let's slow down, see more and take less, and let the flowering period of human beings slowly pass under the stars.
The glory of the night can't save the stars.
Ancestor's carnival has added massiness and clarity to ancient times, but it has brought us guilt and shame.
We walked all night,
After hundreds of millions of years of memories, a star lights up in my heart.
Strong winds never blow.
A strong wind blew through the village.
This village is full of poetry. Every ear of rice ripples into a poem, and every grain of rice slips into a poem. Farmers are writing hearty poems on the land day and night with sweat.
I am the son of a farmer.
I, blown into a hot text by the strong wind, find a suitable position in the magnificent poem and express my passion for the autumn harvest of the earth.
However, the lyric is too narrow, and the gully interwoven on farmers' faces is the most open song and the most poetic expression.
For thousands of years, the wind has passed through the village.
Human granaries are cultivated under handfuls of sickles. Hunger in the stomach always precedes the purity of the soul. The countryside has endowed the human soul with poetic habitation again and again.
Nowadays, the times are far away from the village.
Our footsteps are not as timely as the strong wind, and we can only arrive in a flash in poetry and painting.
Poet's language, painter's ink and wash, no matter how gorgeous and chic,
It is not as good as the rusty sickle of farmers;
It landed gently on rice, touching the uterus of the land and the imagination of human beings. Mankind thrives, and the village is the last fig leaf left for us.
Gail, thank you for putting the poem.
Return it to the village.
A strong wind blew through the city.
The wind blew into thousands of households. Night arrival, brightly lit, opened the window and awakened one desire after another.
We are part of the city.
Desire is part of us.
Strong winds blow desires into the form of cities, surround us, imprison us and enslave us. But we regard the city as a garden, combing golden feathers at the window.
I have no feathers.
My only wish is to leave.
The ugly face of human beings now is simply not worthy of beautiful feathers. If humans can fly, all they can do is fly over the city instead of degenerating into a simple specimen.
Perhaps, we are tired, immersed in the city and accumulating strength for the future.
Without desire, there is no life.
Will not disappear, but also desire.
Human wings are the desire to soar in the wind. A city is essentially just a tree. Let's have a rest and leave a spring tide and thunderstorm for the earth.
Today, I refuse desire in the name of desire.