There was a spring rain last night, and I was a little grumpy. In fact, the spring rain in my impression should be gentle and quiet, with a gentle and slow rhythm, as if it were endless all night.
When the spring rain continues, I can't help but think of the poem "Good rain knows the season, when spring comes". Also, the spring rain is coming, and the whole world is a roll of Chinese paintings with full charm.
Under the dense spring rain, everything seems to be covered with a filter layer. Every frame is tender as water, and every drop slows down time and calms the heart.
Prose Poetry: Spring Rain (3)
(2)
"The small building listens to the spring rain all night, and the deep alley sells apricot flowers."
Wake up in the morning, the air is full of damp smell, the flowers and plants on the ground are all wet and the flowers are drooping. Standing under the tree, the wind blew and the petals with rain fell, and I suddenly felt the sadness and sigh of "but now I think of that night, that storm, I don't know how many flowers I broke."
In fact, the smell of a spring rain must be in the path and forest, preferably in a garden full of southern flavor. Wear bamboo, cross the pavilion and swim around the fish in the pond. The spring rain is soft and heavy. Occasionally drop a drop or two from the tip and stamens, preferably on the shoulders, hair and sideburns. The world at this time is clean, fresh and natural. Horizontal eye, hookah; Bow your head, the moss is slightly long; Give ear, the raindrops are clear; In retrospect, I want to get wet with my clothes. ...
Feeling, this should be the best appearance of spring rain!