When the spring breeze comes, everything in the mountains wakes up and the spring is full. Flowers are picked and lie on the grass, like carpets. The wind dances on the boundless horizon, the trees are laughing, the flowers are noisy, the streams are laughing and the songs are playing. On the bank, it's all green. Laugh.
The cicadas are singing, and the Woods are particularly quiet; The singing of birds in the mountains is more beautiful than usual. Summer, very hot, holding a book, hiding in the forest to read, do not feel hot, the sun outside is toxic, Lin.
How cold the temperature is, the cicada in the tree is chirping, the cicada in the book is chirping, and the imagination of summer is rippling in my heart. Listening to the chorus, my heart is more surging.
The sound of the wind blowing leaves is like sand and stones singing happily. The sound of the wind blowing on the leaves is like a whisper between friends. The sound of the wind blowing the leaves is like a little girl whispering. Leaves decorate the autumn trees with gorgeous colors. The leaf is patting the big leaf and another leaf. They think: we have exchanged our whole lives for a year of people's happiness.
A cold wind crossed the border, and several leaves fell and were constantly soaked by rain. The weather soon became cold, and the secrets rotting in my heart were quietly buried in my heart with the old year. I always say I don't want to miss the past, but when I'm quiet, I still look through my old diary.
The departure of leaves is not the pursuit of the wind, nor the retention of trees, but the arrangement of fate and natural selection; What should come will always come, and what should go will always go. Sometimes leaving doesn't mean the end, but another beginning.