Manuscript prepared by the broadcast host (1): The floral fragrance of time
There is not much coldness in the sky, but the fireworks are constantly filled with joy. The bleakness of winter is still flying, rippling, and carrying the melancholy of time. It's just that the ice and snow have begun to slack off and wander slowly; they have also begun to slow down their hurried pace and are constantly hesitating. This is the confusion of winter, and it is also the mystery of winter. In the gray sky, there is hope and the gyration of time, which is constantly rotating. Occasionally, a white cloud flies, carrying the depth of life, becoming pure. This is the sky of the years, the haziness of the days, the ordinary life, and even those radiant dreams.
The world in the north is still a frozen world, and there is still a biting wind. But those dormant memories have begun to reveal the obsession in time. Those distant songs are constantly passing by with the wind of time, constantly showing their feelings. The trees on the roadside are constantly hesitating. I don’t know when they are no longer haggard. Instead, they have the sleep of mountains and rivers, and the fragmentation in the years. However, they carry expectations and are wandering slowly, as slowly as water. The ground flows. The lonely leaves are still swaying in the wind, still standing on the branches of the tree, constantly talking about the sadness in autumn; but they don't understand that at this time, time has the pride of spring.
In the past, the cold wind could not wait to come over. The autumn wind at that time was surging and full of heroism, but the chilling winter wind made everything begin to struggle. Dong climbed the mountains, crossed the peaks, and jumped over the rivers, leaving behind a touch of sadness, he came straight all the way, like a scoundrel, never willing to leave easily again. But at this time, I snuggled tightly in the arms of the years, just watching the meandering time, just talking about the memories of the years softly, and thus began the frustration of the years. Winter has seen how much time has passed in Lingering, but there, Winter has some regrets, crying constantly, and slowly understanding the surprise of reality.
The wind still has a lot of noise, and it never gives up, still saying that this is its world. However, the willow trees by the river, accompanied by a light mist, began to hesitate. The yellow buds began to tremble in the cold wind, without any anxiety or speculation, as if everything was starting from scratch, like a dream that was unfolding from scratch. Those fluffy yellows are like a river, slowly flowing into my heart. And spring, in the cry of the wind, in the lingering sound of winter, comes slowly like this, slowly nestles beside us, leaving behind the dullness of time, and also leaving behind more and more memories in the years. Attachment, and those looks from the past.
The loneliness of the past, along with the twists and turns in life, is coming slowly. It is no longer an expectation, but is coming. The sadness in winter has been retained for too long. The desolation of the past is slowly rippling with loss, slowly planning the outline of time. This is persistence, this is the intersection of time. The cold wind continues its story, time continues its pace, and white clouds continue to float in the sky. Winter brings sadness and the melancholy that is difficult to erase; the mountains and rivers slowly began to sleep soundly, so slowly began to be intoxicated, so slowly began to let time be like water, rubbed by the cold wind broken.
But spring seems to be dormant, without any marks. Walking slowly with Dong's footsteps, when Dong is tired, he slowly walks out, just like this. However, it never has the impatience of winter, nor the arrogance of autumn. It just walks slowly like this, accompanying the winter years. It's a long process and a journey. It is impossible for winter to surrender immediately, but spring pities winter, its memory, and its difficulty, so it always slows down its pace and shows hesitation. And many flowers have lifted the veil of time, begun to reveal their fragrance, and began to use the floral fragrance of time.
Self-prepared manuscripts for broadcasters and hosts (2):
Hold on
I am driving a boat alone, sailing in the vast sea, and the heavy fog makes me I was confused and couldn’t tell the direction to the other side of success. The strong wind made me think deeply: Should I persevere or give up?
I, like a bird flying in the sky, had one of my wings broken due to the pressure of life. At that time, I cried, should I continue to work hard to realize my dream?
I am like a grass in the storm. The violent storm made me disabled and made me fall. Do I dry myself in the wind and rain? Tears, stand up again
A melancholy me and a hesitant heart prevent me from feeling the sweetness of life and unable to find the other side of my dreams.
Until you appeared, I was relieved. You were like a pair of big hands, teaching me to steer; you were like a gust of wind, gently pushing me; you were like an armrest, making me stand up again.
In early spring, when other lives are still sleeping and enjoying sweet dreams, only it can welcome the morning sun early, because it always believes that the plan for the year lies in spring; when many of its friends are It was crushed to death between the cracks and slept forever. It was the only one who was unyielding and survived in the cracks. When a storm comes, it always responds with a smile. Because it has the spirit of remaining strong despite repeated hardships, regardless of the winds from east to west, north and south. He is Jinsong, a man who dares to challenge life.
Compared to the strength in a harsh environment, my sufferings are nothing. Setbacks are like a touchstone, which can hone our will and enable us to face it bravely. Only those who know how to smile in adversity are the real strong men in life. Thinking of this, I suddenly became enlightened and no longer hesitated, because I want to persevere and move forward in the sea; I want to stay strong and achieve my goals. Dream: I want to persevere and become a grass that can withstand the wind and cold.
Self-prepared manuscript by the broadcast host (3):
Moonlight over the lotus pond
Above the twists and turns of the lotus pond, what can be seen are fields of leaves. The leaves are high out of the water, like the skirts of a graceful dancer. Among the layers of leaves, white flowers are dotted here and there, some are blooming gracefully and some are holding their petals shyly; just like individual bright pearls, stars in the blue sky, or flowers just emerging from the bath. beauty. The breeze passed by, bringing wisps of fragrance, like the faint singing from a tall building in the distance. At this time, the leaves and flowers also trembled slightly, like lightning, which immediately spread across the lotus pond. The leaves were densely packed side by side, and there seemed to be a ripple of solid blue. Under the leaves are veins of running water, which are covered and some colors cannot be seen; but the leaves are even more beautiful.
The moonlight is like flowing water, quietly flowing on this leaf and flower. Thin green mist floats in the lotus pond. The leaves and flowers seem to have been washed in milk; they are also like a dream wrapped in a gauze. Although it is a full moon, there is a layer of light clouds in the sky, so it cannot shine brightly; but I think this is just the right time for a deep sleep to be indispensable, and a nap has its own flavor.
The moonlight shines through the trees, and the bushes high up cast jagged and mottled black shadows, but they seem to be painted on the lotus leaves. The moonlight in the pond is uneven, but the light and shadow have a harmonious melody, like the famous music played on the Buddhist bells. There are trees all around the lotus pond, far and near, high and low, among which willows are the most numerous.
These trees surrounded a lotus pond; only a few gaps were left on one side of the path, as if they were specially left for the moonlight. The color of the trees is gloomy, and at first glance they look like a cloud of smoke; but the beauty of the willows can be discerned even in the smoke.
On the treetops, there is a faint outline of distant mountains. There are one or two street lights shining through the cracks in the trees, and the eyes are listless and drowsy. The liveliest sounds at this time were the cicadas chirruping on the trees and the frogs croaking in the water; but the excitement was theirs and I enjoyed nothing.