Autumn, my favorite season. The clouds are flowing and the rain is blowing. Although I can't see the beautiful scenery in the lyrics, I can't see the smoky boat paintings, and I can only keep company with piles of books and files, but I still have a perceptual and sincere heart, intoxicated in the embrace of autumn, deeply smelling his mature and full breath, intoxicated by him and willing to wander for him.
In July, Mars moved down, and in September, it was time to put on more clothes to keep out the cold. As the saying goes, "an autumn rain brings a cold." It has rained several times since September. Autumn rain is falling, falling, sweeping away the summer heat and rolling in the chilly autumn wind. I only felt that the weather was getting colder every day, and I didn't realize it until one day I walked under a tree and the wind blew with some unknown breath, passing through my eyebrows and blowing off the yellow leaves. I bent down to pick up a piece and suddenly smelled a strange smell-yes, this is the smell of autumn. Sunlight accumulated in spring and summer, mature in autumn, broke out at the bottom of leaves of Indus, at the end of yellow straw and in the chirp of autumn insects.
"If life is just like the first sight, why draw a fan in the autumn wind?" There is no doubt that autumn is covered with a layer of sadness and melancholy, which is the brand of this season and cannot be erased or denied, because this is also her charm. Autumn should be the most suitable season for holding hands. The palms are dry and warm, tightly clasped, and even the palm prints are stuck together. It seems that from this moment on, I have endless courage in my heart, and I will go through spring, summer, autumn and winter.
I am reminded of the West Lake in Hangzhou again. The West Lake is as beautiful as Xizi, and it is famous all over the world. The scenery of the West Lake, such as the broken bridge, the wind and lotus in Quyuan, the sunset glow of Lei Feng, the fish watching in Huagang and the warbler singing in willow waves, even ancient poems, besides the autumn scenery, mostly praise the spring willow, summer lotus and winter snow of the West Lake.
Then, in the next life, please let me be a drop of dew on the tip of yellow willow on the Su Causeway of West Lake. Let me be swept down by the south wind in the late summer and early autumn of August in the lunar calendar, splash a lotus-like splash on the fish tail like gauze in koi fish, or fall under a tree to moisten a withered Datura flower. Turn my body into a touch of elegance in autumn in the West Lake.
Appreciating the prose "Autumn I yearn for" 2 Every night and every day, I miss you so tenderly and my mood is so intangible as water, so I keep cutting and sorting things out, silently waiting for this love that has been in my heart for a long time, that is, I have experienced vicissitudes, that is, I have experienced the seas run dry and the rocks crumble, and it will not change. Thoughts slip past the past and entangle in the corner of memory. Some people say that things change, and no one swears to keep his promise.
Maybe it's a marriage in a previous life, maybe it's a fate in this life. A heart trembling because of you is constantly entangled, and emotional thoughts have opened the cork that looks at you, making me have to obey your fingertips. I only walked for 60 seconds in a minute, but I was tortured by you for thousands of years. Who was robbed by who became the obsession. Just as Ananda said to the Buddha: I would like to be a stone bridge, let the wind, rain and sun rain for 500 years, just asking her to cross the bridge. But you have experienced the changes of the four seasons in my heart, and you are constantly turning around with an inexorable thread. The taste of missing someone is as tender as wine, as reincarnation in previous lives, and as drunk as reunion in this life. Write a picture of your face and spend the years with me. I hope you can see my saturated lyrics and feel the lingering thoughts under my keyboard. God is still attached to me, time has mottled my memory, but your movies are played in my mind over and over again, and I can't escape your warmth after all. You are the irresistible beauty that God has given me, and also the source that I secretly giggle every day to accompany me. If there is another reason for me to pay homage to the sweetness, it is because you are the match I have been looking for all my life and worth waiting for. If there is still a force that urges me to struggle to every moment, every moment, I would like to be your company every minute, and everything will be shared by me. Your tenderness is a net, a thread, which captures my heart and entangles my love for you. My heart is as soft as water, and it gathers into a harbor where you sleep soundly. Whenever it rains, I will cut off the raindrops and piece together an oil-paper umbrella for you. Even if lightning and showers hit your face, I will accompany you and hold an umbrella for you. The most amazing thing in the world is to pronounce your own name. For thousands of years, I have been jumping on your heartstrings, but I can't escape your fingertips, like a kiss.
If you divide the air into 520 parts, you suffocate all my breath and the pen tip in my hand for a long time, and you still firmly depict my unforgettable face.
Appreciation of "Nianqiu" Prose 3 It's late autumn, with fallen leaves all over the floor and warm sunshine. In the beautiful world of wearing boots and short skirts, autumn is already in season. Copy yourself into a painting, ink and wash are vivid, and there is no noise or trouble.
In this morning, idleness is a bit boring, picking up lost words and inheriting one past after another. I didn't deliberately want to write anything. My heart walked, fell, picked it up and gently put it down. A journey, the meeting of Qian Shan, the parting of Qian Shan.
I don't remember how long it has been since I was touched by a person, even though I had extravagant fantasies. Perhaps I saw through the vulgarity of the mortal world and couldn't find my own crystal. I simply looked at the red flowers and thought about the low-key of the green leaves. Then be an unknown leaf that flies when the wind blows and falls when you are sad. Reed falls, autumn is silent.
I have always liked Xu Zhimo's poem "I am a cloud in the sky". Just a cloud in the sky that day brushed the honor and disgrace on the shoulders. On a crisp autumn day, the clouds are surprisingly elegant and beautiful. Live in the clouds and watch fireworks. Everything seems to have nothing to do with yourself. Too much vanity is just someone else's ashes. Some people came and some people left. Life and death happen all the time, and living is the happiest thing.
Some places must be visited and some people must cherish them. The best time is to walk hand in hand with the person you love and in the place you like. Those days were full of love and laughter. I believe in love. There will be a person who loves you with all his heart. No matter you are mediocre or superior, there will be someone who regards you as the most beautiful person in his heart. Then go, meet the person you want to see, love the person you love, and do what you want, because time is too short and the road is not long.
The meeting between people is a kind of fate. It is a kind of luck to meet the person you like in the vast sea of people. There may be a sense of alienation among peers, but at first glance, it must be unspeakable. Those flowers bloom and fall are all natural things. So let nature take its course is the best state. Let it happen when it should happen, and let it end when it should end.
The wedding March and the voice of the host came from downstairs. It's already twelve noon. This half a day, so in the past. Sincerely wish those newcomers who enter the marriage hall. The result of love is marriage. Marriage is a course that will not graduate, and tolerance is very important in endless dribs and drabs. The longest marriage comes from kindness, so we embrace each other and blend with each other.
When people are young, they always feel that it takes a long time to grow up, waiting to grow up with a rubber band. When I was really mature, I found that time passed so fast that it was difficult to return to the simplicity of my youth. Only by holding hands with the years can we grow old.
Think of the wild chrysanthemums on the hillside, and you should watch autumn. If we wait any longer, we will miss this season. Just like liking someone, waiting is no longer the original state of mind.
In a little while, my heart will grow old. Suddenly, autumn has disappeared. Looking back, it is not. In my memory, I can only leave a fallen leaf and disappear silently in the silence.
Appreciation of the essay "Nianqiu" 4 Butterfly flies, languishing for Iraqis, seeing all the vicissitudes of life, falling to the ground in prosperity and sadness, blood-red flowers withered at the end of summer this season, cool, too far and too bitter, unable to recall the journey of youth, even you are lost on the way. The air is full of loneliness, faint autumn and residual temperature. Wen-zi butterfly
Time and time again, there is always a kind of love that cannot be clearly described in words. Moist and soft emotions always make people feel inexplicable pain. I don't know how far it is, whether there will be warm nostalgia at my fingertips, but I will turn this yearning into a meaningful and graceful poem and chew it slowly. I hope you can receive the thoughts of distant cities and share a dusty relationship with me. A few red notes and small print, endless business, a line of tears full of bitterness. How can we be happy when we are together and apart? Write you in a poem and a dream.
Leaves fall in succession, and thousands of temptations float in. No matter how beautiful the scenery is, it can't match my infatuation with you. After thinking about it, how to avoid it? Every word, you are between the lines, dipped in a piece of powder and tears, integrated into your heart, put a handful of sunshine in your dream, and greet your return with an eternal attitude. With the midnight starlight, I put my thoughts on a piece of plain paper full of things, feeling a little bit of worry flowing on the white page, which inevitably touched my heart, but what I meditated in my heart has always been the lovesickness infected by words, because in that carefree youth, perhaps because of the company of words, I really never felt the pain of missing.
Ink fragrance, writing beloved poems, melts in deep pupils. Times have changed, things have changed, looking up at the boundless sky, the endless breath, and the eternal jade in my mind will always illuminate my footprints. Who opened the window and who was watching? Lonely ink strings up two people's worries, and their faces are waiting in the vicissitudes of life. Fingertips across the world with a touch of blue, birds chirping from the dense branches outside the window. A touching song is floating in the room, and time passes gently through your fingers like sand.
Momo wandered in the eternal world of his life, gently bouncing off his scars and lighting up a shallow place for you with empty thoughts. At that time, half a blue lamp accompanied the ancient Buddha, the waning moon was in the sky, the wind screen was a fortress, the years rolled on, and the smoke warmed the makeup. Who can I entrust the weak line of three thousand years to, who can I paint as a fool for you and accumulate a lifetime of madness? I can only watch the white dove fly with half a cup of tea, because I will spend the whole reincarnation writing for you. I don't cry when I miss a song, especially when I'm sad. Just sad, a ray of heartbreak, half-life search, can not meet at close range, can not forget the world. What should I think? Drinking also hurts, but it's sad. Is the most affectionate, but it is parting. I don't know why I fell in love. I have a thin face and a hazy figure. I can't hold it. I used to be gentle and unfinished in my hands, but the ending is over. For three thousand years, the two worlds have been out of touch with each other, and only the dusty road is chaotic.
My thoughts, your sleepless, who sighs gently in this thick night, my waiting, your beauty, who sleeps with a lonely pillow in this faint moonlight, thinking of the autumn wind in the distance, and the purples are still falling. At this moment, a person is holding a lamp at the moon, drinking with his lover, and the bright moon hangs high, and the autumn leaves fall on your shoulders. Will it be the thoughts you sent and shake off the ground? Cang Lan leaves fall and purple butterflies fly. For whom do you hold the moss and for whom do you cook romance? In September, the lyre is broken, the autumn leaves are tender and the clouds are lingering. For whom have you promised for a thousand years? For whom? Who asked the world of mortals? Who asked the floating life? Red paper provoked acacia, the pearl in the sea, but warm tears touched the eyebrows, the sea of tranquility flowed deeply, and the piano and music sent each other. Can you make me blossom in this life?
The waning moon dusk, solo night breeze; Strangely, on the world of mortals, the deep is the world of mortals, the shallow is the world of mortals, and the love of the world of mortals is deep. Through thousands of miles of smoke, look at the autumn scenery. At that time, you were a fallen flower, and I was a butterfly, with a broken heart and butterfly wings all over the world. At that time, you were a star, and I was a crescent moon, intertwined and empty, broken by the wind, blooming and falling, and the breeze entered the screen window. I saw the butterfly dance, the breeze and the blue boat, the weak water of 3 thousand, the heavy acacia, as hazy as the morning fog. Red candle swaying, infinite affection, soluble in water and autumn water. The boat carrying dreams is faint, bypassing the dusty road that is difficult to walk, sailing to the unknown scenery on the other side, entangled with the wind and lonely poems, and does not like to return home.
Whose tears fell in the memory, whose sadness was spilled by the past, like the past, I don't know who fell in love with whom; Memories are like dreams, I don't know who is waiting. I am also persistent, regardless of my past painful geometry. I have bloomed all my life, and I have been flashy for half my life. How many people have gone through the years? If you change your style, if I turn into rain, I will drop two tears as thin as cicadas.
Caressing the mottled time, I would like to cherish all the good memories of the past, hold a touch of the light fragrance of the years, pick up a touch of the beauty left by the season, outline a flower of memory, hold my share of cherish and understanding for you, knead the spreading thoughts into this gentle moonlight, and stick it in my heart forever, drawing a satisfactory full stop. My heart is alienated from the world of mortals, and my mouth is always blooming with that innocent smile. The people in my dreams are frozen in my memory. In the changing years of the world of mortals, I will write down words, wait, close my eyes, sleep, and have my dreams on the other side of the flowers.
My heart aches in my dream. Through the night, I can see your face, which has faded, and the night is thick and vague. You came, you were drunk, and you called softly. The spread of thoughts burned out the window lattice, your smile, your words, quietly input under your fingertips. Acacia is intoxicating, lonely and beautiful, but now I care about who I am, and I am full of disabilities. Who knows that in the sea I miss, flowers bloom and fall, and the morning sun rises and falls, playing a drama of years. You haven't appeared by my side, how dare I not expect you?
It is difficult to draw a picture of lovesickness. My whole life has passed, but you are the most gorgeous memory in my life. In the world of mortals, you and I are destined to meet in this life, beautiful, happy and painful, and in time, destined to be separated. Let me use the feelings of this life to repay the debts of previous lives! Looks leave, love pays, lovesickness suffers, love waits, this life meets in a hurry, meets in a hurry, falls in love in a hurry, can I meet you in the most beautiful place in the next reincarnation? If you can promise me a future, I will dance for you, I will be happy all my life, just for you to bloom in the world of mortals, and I will sing a song with you forever.
Appreciation of the Prose "Nianqiu" 5 For your memory, there is only such a picture: the sun is setting, on the high ridge, holding a cheap cigarette in your hand, looking at the mature crops and laughing stupidly. ...
The shadow in my heart began to blur again, like the image in the old TV set, and the voice creaked intermittently across the line. It is so fragile, as if it will immediately jump into a whole piece of black and white snowflake, moving irregularly and dazzling, and then it will burst in the blink of an eye, and the fragments will fall to the ground and bounce into small particles, scattered into the air and dissolved in the dust.
There is a faint sadness around, and the air is filled with the smell of alcohol. You lie quietly in the hospital bed, and your weak breath stirs the string-like air. The heavy air makes me breathless. I've never seen you so fragile, as if you were about to melt in the air without leaving a trace. I hold your hand tightly and greedily enjoy your only body temperature. I smelled the smell of straw, heard the cock crow in the country, and saw your figure working in the field ... I smiled knowingly.
"Girl, the oranges are not ripe yet, don't pick them!" Grandpa called me.
"Oh!" There is a promise, but my arms are clearly filled with green oranges, and the endings of these oranges are not intended for me to ruin. Grandpa always looks very helpless to me, but he doesn't want to talk about me. Finally, he could only keep a straight face, but I clearly saw a smile. I chuckled over my mouth and smelled the orange in my hand.
"Grandpa, where are you going?" I grabbed my hands full of mud and farted behind my grandfather.
"I'm going to the fields, so be good at home. Don't wander around, don't talk to strangers, and don't leave home, okay? " Grandpa explained everything to me carefully.
"I want to go with you!" I followed closely. I don't want to be tied down at home because of fun.
"No, you stay at home, the sun is shining outside! And I have to collect rice, so I don't have time to take care of you. " Grandpa looks very serious.
"All right!" I play with building blocks ...
Tired of playing with building blocks, I found that I was the only one at home. I ran out of the house crying to find grandpa. I've been all over the village, but I can't find grandpa's familiar figure. "plop!" I fell into the ditch and cried even harder.
Finally, a mother-in-law heard the crying, pulled me up covered in mud and helped me find my way home. Grandpa saw me and asked me nervously if I was hurt. He lovingly wiped the tears from the corner of my eye and handed me a big orange. I smile through tears.
The picture "sou" stopped turning, seven years, really seven years. In the past seven years, I seldom went to the countryside to see my old grandfather, but I naturally enjoyed the prosperity of the city, but I forgot my grandfather and the faint orange fragrance in my memory. When I touched the simple rural customs again, I couldn't help but feel a subtle but sharp pain between my fingers, and I burst into tears. ...
Looking at grandpa's haggard face and gray hair, I found that grandpa was not his old grandfather. My grandfather is old, but I have grown up!
Grandpa, I promise you that I will miss you for seven autumn days in the future to make up for my confusion! These seven Qiu Li will be full of golden ears of wheat and the fragrance of oranges in the village. ...
Chongyang, Chongyang, look at Chongyang again, I seem to smell the orange fragrance in that memory. ...