The Story of Spring is about 100 words.

Kaiser3344 Spring must be like this: from the green hills, a handful of snow can no longer be caught, and with a splash, a cold face becomes a painted face, and a song is sung from the clouds to the foothills, from the foothills to the low and desolate villages, to the hedgerows and to the yellow webbed ducklings. So charming, so sensitive, but so chaotic. A thunder can make clouds cry all over the sky for no reason, and a cuckoo cry can make a city full of azaleas. When a gust of wind rises, every willow tree will sing a white, empty, inexplicable and inaudible fly. Every fly is a semicolon of a willow. Anyway, spring is so unreasonable and illogical, but it can still be good and calm. Spring is destined to be like this: an old root clings to the dead stem of a pool full of dark leaves and flowers, and the roof beams of thousands of families in the north gently hold up a small empty bird's nest after being disturbed by snow and wind. Then, suddenly, one day, peach blossoms captured the water profiles of all the mountain villages. Willow trees control the royal ditch and the folk river head-the spring water is like Julian Waghann with a clear-cut flag, which is beautiful because of long-term pious prayer.