1. The silent bird has a golden voice. The tallest leaf on the tree.
Call it a bird
It's about to fly-it feels
The weight of sunlight is just right.
Wind is the sweetness of nothingness (or sweet nothingness)
It swayed slightly and did not lose weight.
Its wings spread out.
Its silence has a golden voice.
It knows that a gesture is leaking.
It's the fall of my life, and I can't get away from it.
This means destruction ... when the rain stops.
It's shining and has flown back.
Every time Hay goes to the back of the house.
You can see the pile of hay.
It was pulled out a few months ago.
It was green then.
I uprooted it.
Brown mud
I didn't expect it at that time, but now?
I can make it with matches.
Make a hullabaloo about and jump high
Turned into some ashes in an instant.
A layer of evenly distributed ashes.
Looks like someone planted it carefully.
Where there are small stones.
Slightly convex
Wind; timebomb
I suddenly want to stop this gust of wind.
I'm afraid these ashes are gone.
The setting sun shines on a clearing.
3. Walk into an empty house.
Stop, you find yourself in time.
Standing in the middle of the house
There seems to be some kind of agreement.
We are alert to the air.
And always involuntarily into it.
Like a bug in an apple.
When I came in, I never thought about going out the other side.
Enjoy this free lunch.
Grass looks best in the wind.
If it's sunset,
They were separated, curled up and exposed.
A glittering gem
Then stand still and you can hear it in the silence.
The stream has not been cut off.
Screaming butterfly, decide
Die in this mild autumn
Leaves must fall. I heard the wind last night.
No talking, no swearing.
It's air colliding with air.
It is the air that can't stop the air.
It is air and air that form a vortex.
It's air and air
Must fall leaves
Fallen leaves can prove it.
I once applauded this loneliness.
6. "Get up early" and the trees on our wall.
Live by our sighs. "
Brock wrote this.
I guess he must have looked out of the window after writing.
There are trees outside the window.
There are birds in the tree.
But he can't see them.
They are hidden in the thick branches and leaves.
He only saw the leaves shaking like waves.
Jump silently on cloudy days.
"We live by deep-rooted silence."
7. The autumn wind can't say that you can't open a few tiles.
Few pairs of eyes can say no.
Let a few people never hear from each other again.
It doesn't make sense.
Let a boring gourd
Hanging around, complaining
Let a door close and then open it.
Open and close again.
Autumn wind theory
I am a legend, not a story.
8. You can only see Bai Niao when flying.
Bai Niao. Unlike white clouds, Bai Niao is white.
Closer to the late autumn wind.
Where does the chill come from?
Where does this ghost want to go?
You have never heard Bai Niao sing. You never.
Seeing Bai Niao on the rock,
One foot is standing and the other foot is in the pool.
Symmetry. Confrontation dusk is also a curtain,
Cooking smoke sewed it to death. A person slowly descended the mountain,
Another man was treated in the depths of the forest: Bai Niao was like a scar,
Soaring into the sky, the dripping moonlight beat.
Bai Niao, the dying black nest,
Never come back. It stays in the air overlooking you.
9. At night, I hope to meet such a woman. It's beautiful. -In the evening breeze
Women are very beautiful. I also hope that the umbrella in her hand,
Dripping water; Despite the rain
It has stopped. I hope she has one on her skirt.
Dozens of mud spots, dim in color and fierce in momentum, were covered with bullet holes like flags.
She came to me unhurriedly in high heels.
The rhythm of daydreaming ... I boldly
Observe her-we don't know each other, just solemnly.
Missed it How nice the curly hair is, how nice the twilight is,
Listening to her footsteps disappear behind me, I know.
Even if I stand still, even if I die here, I have already gone far.
10, it snowed at dusk.
Suddenly want to go to the balcony to see the snow.
I want to see these things.
How do ghosts who can't get down to the ground make a showdown between heaven and earth?
Shake hands and make peace.
It seems that everything has been arranged!
Only the wind goes deep into the cracks in the wall again and again,
It seems that there is something in it that no one has found.
Kind and warm.
But I'd rather believe it's true,
Or believe in snow, these silent flames or carols.