A flock of geese struggled to draw an arc from north to south in the blue sky, and the leaves focused on their attachment to Mother Earth. Winter, stepping on the rhythm of the season, quietly comes to us.
Look! The trees in the distance, although still tall and straight, have no summer enthusiasm; Look! The leaves in the distance have quietly turned yellow under the baptism of time, falling leisurely, and a gust of wind blows, and the leaves roll up and fly all over the sky, and then quietly fall, laying a thick quilt for their foundation, which can not help but remind people that "fallen flowers are not heartless things, but turn into spring mud to protect flowers"; Look! The geese in the sky return to the south, and the blue sky appears a little embellishment-geese fly south, marking the traces of winter in people's hearts; Look! The mountains in the distance, it has lost the bright green of spring, the flowers in summer are in full bloom, and the golden color in autumn is everywhere, replaced by the solemnity of black, and there is still a little mist around the mountains to set off its vicissitudes. Oh, all this makes me feel sad. I suddenly understand that winter has come quietly.
Tree rings have witnessed the changes of life. Half a month ago, the old persimmon tree in front of my house was covered with red persimmons, proudly hanging on the branches like lanterns. But now, the stout trees and the fiery persimmons have all gone home for the winter, leaving only an old trunk waiting there.
Crickets and ants.