Holding a book, walking on the way home.
The warmth of the sun and its golden color now,
Perfectly matched together.
Even the most critical aesthetic connoisseur,
Can't find a trace of disobedience.
Sunset;
Look up and stop on the way home.
The farewell of the sun and his deep and elegant voice,
Ear echo-"It's late at night, it's time to go."
Say, an autumn leaf stops in my palm,
This is a gift from the sun.
Autumn leaves;
On the way home, stare down and squat down.
The veins of the leaves are clearly presented to us.
Beautiful, warm and fiery red.
This is a symbol of autumn, and the golden trees along the road are whispering.
Leaves, silently frightening. I think it may be because of the loss of water.
Cross road;
Singing, walking on the way home,
It feels good.
The gravel road at the foot is covered with fallen leaves, and it creaks when you step on it.
Stones embedded in the road may lose their edges and corners in the wind and rain, and passers-by come and go day after day.
The feeling of stepping on it is round and smooth. Before you know it-
Home is here, and night is here. ......