Prose of listening to the rain and making a cup of Millennium tea

In continuous rainy days, the mountains are covered with dais, the rivers are covered with smoke, the branches are changed into green clothes, the leaves are updated, a rain is a scene, a scene is a heart, and the rain on the field is a heart. Every bit is freehand brushwork, and all the threads are around the feelings. It's rare to have leisure in rainy days, and it's rare for the soul to have fun. Besides, holding fragrant teas and listening to the sound of rain knocking on your heart, let the fragrant teas in your hands roll up and down with the sound of rain.

The rain in June lasts until July, and it is intermittent, sometimes thick and sometimes light, just like some thoughts, from ancient times to eyebrows, sometimes hidden and sometimes present, sometimes worried and sometimes happy.

I don't know, is the rain in July still whispering about June? Excuse me, is the rain in July still entangled with the past that has turned to dust?

I don't know, is today's flying flowers whispering, still echoing the ancient fragrant and tender heart?

It rains like silk, dripping with sadness, and Ming Che's heart, floating away, all of which are landscapes.

There are torrential rains, which are the sighs of clouds in the high altitude of Wan Li. The wind blows over the eyebrows, touching the kisses and feeling lonely, and my heart sings for no reason.

is it? When there is wind and rain, you can really calm down and listen to the wind rolling the dust and the rain knocking on the Sanskrit.

knowing that wind and rain are only natural phenomena, why? Lonely and sad, always heart, quietly wet, always eyebrows.

Murphy? Among thousands of raindrops, there is always one, which has slipped through my fingers for a thousand years and missed it for a thousand years. Murphy, this one after another of the broken raindrops, is the third stone condensed with affectionate tears again and again? Because of my thoughts, I never gave up, and I always sang in harmony. Rain is falling all heard, so I drifted in.

is it? A life with love and pain is really worth experiencing. It is not enough to lie still and relax, get drunk and revel, and look down on the world. It also needs a rain drip to call on the sleeping consciousness and encourage the dream that has not been continued by the pillow.

We also know that the fleeting time of love and hate is no match for a curtain of wind and rain. The years of sorrow and joy are nothing more than a cup of tea, which rises and falls, and rises into the abyss.

then, who will make a pot of tea in the past life for me, warming the concerns of this life, on the threshold of the Millennium, playing the lute and singing harmoniously, taking the Millennium rain and dew as a lamp and the sky as a cover? Seeing the ups and downs of tea leaves, I was merciful and tactful, and the tea water was warm, rippling the passion between my sleeves.

The green leaves are clear, the water is green with tea, the mountains and rivers are speechless, and the wind stops raining, so you hold the lamp, face the wind and smile. And I, just at the top of the blue cliff, quietly stretched out between clouds and water, like the tea in your hand, boiling and fragrant, overflowing the valley, rippling over the mountains and hills, and then slowly flowing into your warm meridians, from then on, the fragrance will no longer drift away, and the tea will no longer cool down.

after the rain clears, the leaves are green and new, and there is no trace of yesterday. The tired bird shakes off its dew and spins in the air again, still as light as a leaf and floating like a cloud.

I still exude yesterday's fragrance, lingering in the cup, dazzling in the cup, waiting, smart you, carefully control, for me, the last mess, make a knot.

Nai, things in the world always start with excitement and prosperity, and then run away at the end.

mortal people always have a beautiful moon and a beautiful scenery, but they can't help it.

there is no deadline for rain, so tea cooling has a time limit. I missed the rain in June and the rain in July, August and September.

after brewing this tea, my most beautiful face has melted into the tea with the stretching of the tea; My first smile was also brilliant in the fragrance with the curling mist. How can we regain the beauty of the past and the beauty of yesterday? And my tea body, which has been scattered by boiling water, how can I do it without trace and return to my original appearance?

Listen to the rain, listen to the ticking, and sing about the stormy life; Listening to the rain, listening to the wisps, winding the eternal love.

fireworks on the other shore, who is remembering each other? There is a woman, dragging a long skirt lightly, wading through the mae of water, framing that smiling eyebrow into a painting, only wishing, only wishing, borrowing luxuriant things and dew, and blooming cinnabar on your chest, which will be treasured all your life.

Who's watching the prosperous times, dancing under the moon, cooking spirits with swords, smelling the lilacs on the Plum Blossom Festival lightly, swaying in misty rain, and attacking the bitterness of the poetic soul, holding a flower umbrella into a rose with a sharp heart, just waiting, only waiting, when the lilacs diffuse, bearing the nectar of heaven and earth, blooming in your palm and being cared for all your life.

A thousand years of loneliness has dried into ancient tea. Who? You can also tell which is the tea, which is the camellia and who is it. You can devote all your life's warmth and melt into all kinds of tenderness to make this delicate and fragrant ancient tea. Who, in such a rainy season, quietly got up, made a cup of tea, shook hands lightly, watched the tea leaves slowly spread out like a scroll, and then carefully counted the textures between the veins and sniffed the fragrant leaves between the lips and teeth, which were still familiar.

I only wish to make a cup of Millennium tea in a rainy time, drink slowly and feel the taste alone. Borrowing the texture of a leaf, I found the vein of past lives, and I realized the Zen machine alone.

this afternoon, so idle; Look at the leaves, dancing; Listen to the rain and tap; Tea is fragrant and attacks people; Time, quiet; Lonely, happy ... Suddenly, I remembered a sentence I occasionally saw a long time ago: make a cup of water in this life with tea from previous lives ... Listening to the rain and tears for a thousand years, it's half a life; Make tea alone to pass the time, half awake and half drunk.

It turns out that all beings, like me, are lost in this deep and shallow fate after all, and entanglement is the only way for life; I am like a sentient being, and eventually I am floating in this thick and faint tea. It is only a matter of time before the tea is warm and cool.

If I use a rainy time to brew a cup of tea for thousands of years, and wait for someone, through this rain, Qian Shan will climb all the way, just for the boiling beauty of this tea, just for the diffuse fragrance of these cups, you, but what am I waiting for, the person who holds the lamp?