Walking alone in the aisle of the campus, a cool breeze blew, mixed with the smell of flowers and plants, sweet, oh, no, fragrant. Occasionally, I looked up and found that the leaves on the tree were yellow and Metasequoia was dancing with the wind.
The leaves flying in mid-air are so beautiful that people have infinite reverie. Poets are fascinated by it, and I am fascinated by it. I am not a poet, and I have no poet's words. I am neither a writer nor a writer. I'm just an ordinary person. When the wind rolls the leaves to the ground, it is inevitable to have a feeling of sadness. The leaves flying all over the sky always have a moment of landing, and that moment is the end of their lives, and no one cares anymore. Perhaps, only sanitation workers swept them into a ball and took them to another world. Perhaps, they will be buried deep in the soil forever and reduced to ashes.
I am as ordinary and unremarkable as this fallen leaf.
Lying on the roof alone at night, watching the stars all over the sky. They are also so ordinary. Twinkling, though ordinary, always has its own light. Small as it is, it always has its own wealth. I love this starry sky, so clean and pure, just like our hearts.
Time flies and the breath of autumn is strong.
It's raining, scratching, hiding under the covers in the morning, and the warm, comfortable and soft big bed gives me spiritual comfort. Because sleeping is a great pleasure in life. Helpless, after the alarm clock rang three times, I habitually turned off, got up again and went to class.
I hurried by in the rain with an umbrella. I don't have the habit of holding an umbrella when it rains lightly. Walking in the rain is romantic and enjoyable.
It cleared up, and then I went to the roof to look at the starry sky, only to find that the night sky was not as bright as before, with a hint of sadness.
Autumn, perhaps "the frost leaves are red in February flowers" is the most beautiful compliment to her.