Second, the cycle of four seasons, spring, summer, autumn and winter, countless lives accepted this ruthless arrangement, came in a hurry and left in a hurry. Maybe they can't stand the emotional fetters and have been attached and helpless, but what they should go is doomed to go, and what they miss is forever!
Third, sniffing the smell left by yesterday's fragrance, looking for it, there is still no trace. I met a firework, but it was still so bleak. Lost night, dotted with countless lonely stars, I wonder if one belongs to me.
Fourth, is autumn really synonymous with sadness? I have never believed it, because autumn has never been sad in my heart, but it is a little cold, so I have always been attached to autumn, its beautiful butterfly rain, its delicate autumn rain and its little loneliness.
Five, the green bamboo forest, fireflies flying, grotesque stones, cool breeze with a few bamboo leaves, with the stream flowing eastward, flowing to an unknown distance. Looking back, do you still have the circle carved on the tree when you were a child? Are those restless crows still talking about the desolation and sadness of dark and windy nights?
6. At dawn, the sky in the east was a fish-belly grey, and the first ray of morning light made me infinitely amazed. Admire the infinite light and strength. At dusk, the sunset glow in the west is my best fantasy, imagining the gorgeous sunset glow, which makes people unconsciously intoxicated.
Seven, autumn rain, quietly falling, like countless silkworms spit out silver, densely woven into a diagonal, desolate bitterness has long been exposed, her rain curtain is so dense, hanging beads between heaven and earth.
Eight, misty and rainy camphor tree gently swaying green leaves, under the erosion of a drop of rain beads, gradually hang down branches, revealing a bit desolate and gloomy in a cold. It has been raining all the time, and the beads of rain hit the calm Jiusan Lake in Wenzhou intensively, as if they were tears falling from the sky. Tears turn into rain and dance slowly in the cold and oblique wind.
Nine, the weather is gloomy, and the sky is thick, low, and gray-yellow turbid clouds. The northeast wind roared and ran wildly in the wilderness. It seems to hold a sword and can pierce a tight leather coat, not to mention the exposed face, which has been scratched again and again, and the pain is unbearable. I love snow, I love snow scenes, and I love winter more. Winter is the ring of the soul. Although winter is very cold, it has incomparable warmth and hope.
Ten, the ancient road sunset, one person and a half shadow, why not the joy of the past? The sound of the flute and piano has been sad for a long time. Who is waiting for the south flight? Goose has been entrusting letters for more than half a year, but there is no reply. How can a beautiful woman leave me alone? It's frost, chrysanthemums and maple leaves. The color of sunset is changing, and the afterglow is waiting for me to leave. Now the paper clip is regular script, and the pen is writing deeply. I hope to remember this season of mourning.
Eleven, cicadas and birds sing. Birds, cicadas, frogs and crickets are so crisp and beautiful. Without the sounds of these animals, nature would be dull, lifeless and people would have no fun, so these sounds embellish nature and add endless vitality and charm to nature.
12. In this winter when it never snows, it tells the sad memories of me and her. With sadness, desolation and regret, I thought of her again and that relationship. There is a thick layer of snow on the roof of the city, standing on the flat top of a tall building and looking out, just like the rolling snow-capped mountains.
13. Late autumn dusk always comes quickly, before the water vapor evaporated from the sun dissipates in Shan Ye. The sun sets in the western hills. As a result, the blue wind in the valley, with a strong coolness, drove the white fog and wandered down the mountain; The shadow of the mountain peak fell on the village more quickly, and the shadow became thicker and thicker, gradually blending with the night, but it was soon dyed silver-gray by the moonlight candle.
14. Ah, what charming and brilliant autumn colors, what exciting and prosperous scenes! Here, we simply can't see the bleak scenery characterized by gloomy colors, gloomy clouds and lonely mountains and rivers in Ouyang Xiu's works, and we can't see the sad autumn artistic conception that the brave is the tree and the black is the star.
15. In autumn, the Ye Er of willow slowly turns yellow and then falls, which makes people feel infinitely desolate. At this time, the wind also became evil. Did Miss Liu and Xifeng quarrel? I don't know. However, I see that autumn is full of colorful leaves, like a funeral in nature.
Sixteen, on the path of a distant mountain, is a lonely shepherd shivering in the north wind. The cold wind flows through the gullies eroded by years on the old man's face, smells the strong breath of the old man and tastes the ups and downs of the old man in the wind and rain. The old man picked up a few branches and lit them with yellow grass roots, burning them into a pile of desolate warmth and a pile of warm hope.
Seventeen, the weather turned cold, osmanthus climbed up the branches again, blocking the light through the cracks in the trees. Still lush, just emitting a faint fragrance, invading the heart and spleen, standing on tiptoe, breaking branches and putting them in your hands. On the yellow laurel tree, you see a little sadness and desolation.
Eighteen, autumn, let us experience the sadness and loneliness of autumn since ancient times; Let's experience the fall of leaves in autumn, like the sad waves of a waterfall; In autumn, let's experience the sparseness of geese in the autumn sky.
19. Autumn is a nostalgic season. Many stories and people are inadvertently linked, and they whisper about each other's thoughts. It always seems that in such a cool autumn, I suddenly look back and find that the road I have traveled is so desolate. The romantic past is unbearable, and the years of hard work are vivid.
Twenty, it's dusk. The setting sun is on the mountain, and the lake mixed with fish scales and waves looks so soft and lingering. In this bleak background, the willow leaves have also become silent, and the fish in the water are more tactfully entangled. I like dusk, not only because it has beautiful pictures, but also because it cherishes sadness.
Twenty-one, during the Qingming Festival, it rained in succession, and pedestrians on the road were driven out of their wits. The pedestrians inside are just going to travel. Qingming, long grass and blooming flowers are the best seasons for tourism. He is neither as hot as July, nor as desolate and lonely as September, nor as cold as January. So, I decided to visit the newly-built Yin Qing Park.
Twenty-two, the autumn wind is blowing, so cold, and my heart is cold. Autumn is the harvest season. I lost the fruit of love. Autumn is also a sad season, a person walking on a familiar road, watching the leaves floating in the wind. I asked in my mind, "Ye Zi, are you lonely?" In the end, is it the tree's persistence or the wind's most demanding!
Twenty-three, to see the sun, despite his dazzling, beautiful sunset, there is no doubt that whenever I watch the sunset, it is also my most regretful and sad moment. Buried by the coming night! It seems that there are dark clouds all over the sky, and I often take a breath of air conditioning for the situation before me, and I feel extremely sad and scared inside. It also made me feel the bleak mood like dusk.
Twenty-four, the weak lingering sound of Qiu Chan is also a specialty of the north; Because there are trees everywhere in Beiping and the houses are low, you can hear them singing everywhere. In the south, you have to go to the suburbs or the mountains to hear Qiu Chan's cry, which is like a cricket and a mouse in Beiping and a housefly that every household keeps at home.
Twenty-five, raise a glass to the shadow, one cup is bitter, two cups are sorrow. Drunk in the smoke of 800 miles of missing, wine stains on clothes, lovesickness in poems, dribs and drabs, every word is related to desolation. Candle shadows are red, and the night is still. Is there only one candle that wants to say goodbye to others and cry for others until dawn?
Twenty-six, autumn rain hit their faces. Piles of dark gray clouds hold the earth low. It's already late autumn, all the trees in the endless forest are bare, and the old trees stand gloomy and brown moss covers its wrinkles. Ruthless autumn stripped them of their beautiful clothes, and they had to wither and stand there bald.
Twenty-seven, a rainy season, whose dream is broken and whose heart is wet with tears? Maybe after all, the rain is too big and the umbrella is too small to support you and me. Happiness is washed away in this bleak rainy season, leaving only sadness and loneliness. Perhaps, happiness is like a cloud in the rainy season. If it hurts, it disappears into the blue sky after crying. No one knows that she has been here.
28-year-old, 28-year-old growth, hesitation, orientation, struggle, turning back, retiring, rubbing hemp, sunbathing, lying in bed, hanging on the wall. Life is great, and death is bleak. Please don't stand side by side when you can hold hands. Please don't hold hands when you can hug. Please don't say goodbye when you can fall in love.
Twenty-nine, autumn wind, rustling leaves. Listen to the funeral of Zheng on Yueyang Tower, but there is a bright moon downstairs. Fog and rain sink clouds and dreams, and smoke and waves are boundless. There is nowhere to ask Xiang Ling, only the heartless river bypasses the lonely city.
Thirty, winter sets off the desolation of autumn. On that day, Li Yian's curtains rolled in the west wind, and people were thinner than yellow flowers, miserable and lonely, so yellow flowers piled up all over the floor, gaunt and damaged. Who can pick them now? A cool breeze accompanied by a bit of spring rain, how can I get a sad word at this time? It is heartbreaking for two women to tell each other their melancholy when the yellow flowers fall. This is the sadness and disappointment of autumn.
Thirty-one, bleak autumn, completely cold. Can't sleep at night. There will be many pictures in my mind, once you, once me, once us. Happiness or sadness, sadness or pain. In fact, memory has become my habit. I am used to enjoying loneliness at night and being sad alone at night. I don't want to get used to it, but I can't change it.
Thirty-two, many people think that autumn is bleak, but autumn in my hometown is full of poetry and colorful. It's not as cold as autumn in the north, and it will soon be winter. Autumn in my hometown is very warm, blowing warm autumn wind. The sun shines warmly on the face. Like a mother's hand touching you.
Thirty-three, in the autumn wind, the leaves sway aimlessly and dance in the coolness. This is reflected in my dim eyes, and my thoughts merged into tears, which also drifted away with the autumn wind.
Thirty-four, the wind is rustling, the rain is thin and cool. In the evening breeze, bits and pieces of thoughts, like these scattered petals, slowly pile up desolation and fragrance, becoming a feeling of confusion and confusion, blurring the memory of the past.
35. Empty valleys have inexplicable echoes. The grass far and near undulates like waves in the sudden strong wind. I don't know when the silhouette of the wolf appeared on the ridge and then disappeared. The dark valley was silent, but a certain area was shining with strange light. Approached only to find that this is an unfathomable lake, and all the glory of Leng Yue seems to pour on the lake.
Thirty-six, it began to rain outside the window. At first, I only heard a slight rustle, which seemed very empty and far away. Gradually, the sound came near, as if it came slowly and gently from a deep place. Raindrops hit the windowsill, just like your gentle hands are like pigeons, tapping gently on the desktop. Listening to the rain knocking on the window at night is beautiful, but it also shows the listener's boredom and loneliness. How I long to hold your hand gently and look at your face carefully on such a night, with attractive eyes and affectionate feelings, regardless of the wind and rain outside the window.
The sky is full of stars. I want to catch a cold. I don't want the sunshine to warm my heart. I want to remember the hatred in this world, and I want to forget the love that this world has given me. Let the only fire in my heart fly away with the winter snow. I want to create a cold world, where there are icebergs, where there is no sunshine, only the stars and the moon in the sky, and there is just my paradise.
38. The new moon casts a pale moonlight on the sea. The sea looks strange. The sea is covered with an oil film, and the water below is still. There is no breeze blowing. The air smells bad. It may be oil on the water. The night sky is clear, the stars are bright and the sky is empty.
I was deeply impressed by the moon in the land of fear. That night, I turned my attention to the horizon with a call. What kind of moon is that? It is pale and round, and it passes through the clouds with a strange smell, but it has a sad aesthetic feeling. This is a frightening moon, reminiscent of a pale face and a cry in the wilderness. That night has passed, but the faint moonlight will still be immersed in dreams, making people feel cool.
Forty, since ancient times, many poets have felt sad and desolate about autumn, which is really sad and lonely since ancient times. Everyone is walking into autumn with different eyes, angles and mentality, and feeling the different emotions brought by autumn. I prefer autumn to the other three seasons.
Forty-one, look up at the pedestrians on the road, they are all in a hurry. The solstice of winter has not yet arrived, and the cold at this moment is not biting. I think a person walking on the road, looking at the leaves that will not fall, will make me feel a little sad, feel the warmth of home, and involuntarily speed up my steps. Again remind of the ancient poem, Chai Men smell dogs barking, hakodate.
Forty-two, the night swallowed the sunset glow, leaving a scene of black and blue in the sky. When it was dark, a piece of black and blue came into view. The autumn wind blows, and the sigh reminds me that when the wind blows, the wheat waves are unpredictable and desolate.
Forty-three, the bloody setting sun on the horizon refused to take away the remaining afterglow. There were several calls of returning geese from the other side of the mountain. The vast sky seems to have only their lost figures. What can they leave on this land?
Forty-four, the distant mountains are so misty, I look around, Qian Shan is full of valleys, and moths are falling into flames, crumbling. The world suddenly turned gray, and the first snow in the mountains came quietly, overwhelming.
Forty-five, the flying rabbit in the sky has gone, and the world has been forever. Thinking about talents is more or less a success or failure. Rich karaoke bars and dance pavilions, desolate and abandoned burial platforms. Looking back, only the castle peak will not change.
Forty-six, walking alone in the street, pedestrians are laughing without worrying, they are laughing at my failure, am I overreaching? The sun is shining, but it is also making fun of me severely. Even my usual delicate flowers and vibrant grass are eclipsed. I sat in the street feebly, as if I had been drained of blood.
47. Can your warm hand carry me all my life? Singing forever? If I have another chance, I won't be the cinnabar on your chest. I will hold your hand day and night. In the silent night, there are a few stars hanging in the sky. I don't think about it, unforgettable, comforting, worrying about the empty column, and regretting the years. Autumn geese in western Western jackdaw bring desolation, so why sit in danger and think of the king?
48. The rain outside the window has stopped, and so has the rain inside. Once upon a time, I was still sighing for my disappointment. Once upon a time, I was still reflecting on the mediocrity at that time. Once upon a time, I was so indifferent in front of dedication.
49. Do you like winter? But I don't like it. Why? Because there is no gorgeous color and almost no life in winter, everything seems withered and withered. The biting cold wind makes you shiver, and you can only be surrounded by monotonous colors. Therefore, in this long winter, I have to hide in the house and look forward to the arrival of late spring!
It was a cold winter morning, and the glass windows were covered with thick ice flowers. The freshly poured face washing water is as hard as a stone in the blink of an eye. Outside the house, inside the house, on the trees and on the ground, it was covered with snow, and the biting north wind kept blowing and made a sharp cry. Ah, what a dripping winter morning.
Fifty-one, the autumn wind is bleak, and the once green leaves are yellow. I inadvertently retracted my hand. It's really too cold. What's more, my heart is cold. Lost in the shadow of exam failure, it is just catching up with such a bleak autumn day. In the face of that clean report card, I seem to feel that my road is covered with a layer of dark smog.
Fifty-two, after thousands of years, there are more and more ink-dyed acacia. This life is full of desolation for you, and only by looking back gently will you declare loneliness a poem that you can't bear to look back. I collected 3,000 infatuations under the bodhi tree, tired in the corner, exhausted my feelings, thinned the years and danced my thoughts into chaos.
Fifty-three, a piece of snow, how beautiful is that? My world is full of whirlwinds, and my eaves are falling into the frost, so hard and fragile when touched. I know that spring blossoms, I know that flowers are like snow, and I also know that our story melts in the tears of rain, desolate and beautiful.
54. Spring nights are not so sad. Spring breeze is warm, soft, not boring and not annoying. The evening is also quite good, still warm, and there is a faint orange sunset on the horizon, which is not bleak. Beauty is beauty, but I don't know when the night has quietly waited behind me.
55. The Buddha's goddess scatters flowers, and endless snowflakes fall from the depths of the sky, just like a gentle and graceful fairy in a white dress, paying tribute to all creatures with graceful dance, and then gently covering the roof, grass tips and leaves. In an instant, the true colors of everything were quietly covered by the first snow since winter, and replaced by a thin layer of snow. In a blink of an eye, snowflakes are flying.
The 56-year-old Quan still lives the same life as before. Maybe he has forgotten how to be happy and sad. Live silently, yes, live. His life is very sad, perhaps it should not be described as sad, because he lives better than others, so the word confusion came into being. He was confused, but in confusion he was sure. In his words, "I don't know who I am, but I know who I am not."
Fifty-seven, this winter is getting colder and colder, the leaves are gone, the trees are still suffering from the pain of parting in the bleak wind, resisting the invasion of the cold, the snow on the pine branches is telling these past events, and a sadness hits my heart. I can't help but sigh to myself that winter is so bleak! My heart is so cold.
Fifty-eight, the cold wind is cold, the moon is faint, and the shadow of the moon is dancing, which is the main theme of the night. On a quiet moonlit night, listen to the sound of the wind, feel the desolation of the night, look at the twinkling stars in the distance and feel the unique charm of nature. It's not fast! Mysterious night sky, you are like Mona Lisa's mysterious smile, which always brings me infinite reverie.
Fifty-nine, I was completely disappointed when I stepped into the school gate. Looking around, I feel as if I have just been reborn from the devastated battlefield. Only the newly erected teaching building is eye-catching, and the rest are a mess!
Sixty, autumn rain with a faint coolness is another taste in my heart. It is desolate and bleak, and it is very appropriate to say that it is the sigh of the dissatisfied wife whose youth is gone and no longer there. Facing the rain from the sky, a piece of washed autumn scenery on the river is particularly cold. It's getting cold, the wind is getting stronger, the river is closed in the cold, the afterglow is architecture and things are beautiful. Only the gushing water of the Yangtze river flows eastward without sound.
Sixty-one, this winter is getting colder and colder, the leaves are gone, and the trees are still suffering from the pain of parting in the bleak wind and resisting the invasion of the cold. The snow on the pine branches is telling these past events, and a sadness hits my heart. I can't help sighing and saying to myself, "Winter is so bleak!" My heart is so cold.
62. Some people say that autumn is lonely and bleak. It is also said that autumn is a kind of beauty and a kind of hope. Autumn, this season, we understand the true meaning of life, understand a higher level of responsibility and beauty. This kind of beauty is not superficial or superficial. This kind of beauty is a heavy harvest in crops, a fruit full of branches, and flowers blooming in the garden after the storm.
Sixty-three, unconsciously, it's autumn again. Looking back, how time flies! The afternoon sun is no longer fierce, the autumn wind is bleak, and the autumn rain is continuous. I remember when I was in Shuicheng, I walked on a quiet road, and the tall Fatong on both sides was silent. It happened that a leaf fell at my feet, and I sadly completed my wandering journey with a yellow face and crawling posture.
64. Autumn is also a season of missing. Some miss their relatives far away, and some miss their lovers in different places. What about me? What did I miss? I don't seem to have missed anything, but I will have many ideas, but I just can't say them. I was born in summer, but not as bright as summer, but as sad as autumn. Perhaps because of this, I have a different feeling about autumn.
Sixty-five, an autumn rain kicked off the autumn. With the autumn rain, the weather has also changed. It's cold, but it wakes people up, like a sedative, and calms the restless heart. For me, this season does not belong to warmth or laughter, but to loneliness and indifference.
Sixty-six, rain or shine, everything is reincarnation, and the rain in the world is also a kind of everything! Then, it won't disappear, at least in the time and space where the earth exists, it can't disappear; Therefore, it is doomed that my yearning for you will not disappear, at least in my life!
Sixty-seven, I don't know how far you are, desolate and boring. Drifting away, no books, rich water and heavy fish. In the middle of the night, the wind and bamboo knock on the autumn rhyme, and Chiba hates it. So, if you look for it in a single pillow, the dream is not a lamp, it will burn.
Sixty-eight, autumn, in some people's eyes, seems to be a desolate and desolate scene with bare leaves forever.
Sixty-nine, autumn rain is so touching and desolate, she opened the door of autumn, indicating that we: autumn has arrived. Her beauty infected the leaves on the tree, and Ye Er wanted to follow in her footsteps, falling with the wind and dancing in the air, giving people quiet reverie and meditation.
Seventy, lonely and drunk in the sunset, the sound is desolate and the sound is sad. Who are you complaining about? Regardless of people's haggard, the old man drank a glass of wine all his life, drunk before drinking, two lines of sad tears and the ashes of the past. Lonely and desolate people don't ask, tears add nine songs to the Yellow River, hate the low Huashan Mountain in the three peaks, and worry about dyeing long hair.
Seventy-one-year-old, wrapped in a heavy coat in the cold wind, panting unevenly, I walked on my way home with trembling steps. The bleak night can't confuse my firm direction, and the dim street lamp illuminates the distance to go. The cold wind cut on the face, leaving no eye-catching scars, but bringing cold pain.
Seventy-two, the bright moon is in the sky, and autumn insects are dying. I woke up in the middle of the night and walked out of the yard, feeling chilly and straight to my heart. After the autumn harvest, the fields are particularly cold. The moonlight shines on the whole earth, like a mirror, penetrating my heart. The cool breeze rippled in the rice fields, rippling my thoughts. Standing alone in the field as if the world belonged to me. So I listened to this bleak night.