There is an illusion in a trance that today's mulberry field is the sea of the past, as if I slept in the gentle sunshine in summer and woke up in the cold wind in late autumn. It was not until the last yellow leaf fell that I finally believed that autumn would die, leaving me alone. This autumn belongs to me alone.
Autumn is a cycle. Since the autumn wind, life has fallen asleep,/and the years have finally touched all the prosperity with sadness and decadence. When everything wakes up in the next spring season, once again, it will be a lonely performance of joy and decline. After repeated painful cycles, I am still me. I packed my bags and counted the past, only to realize that I didn't get anything in the end, nor did I lose anything, but only increased the vicissitudes of life.
Under the starlight, in the eyes, the moonlight as bright as water is as cold as it was a thousand years ago and has never changed since ancient times. Through the windowsill, the window lattice will cut the night sky into countless squares, like a torn memento mori, scattered all over the floor. This is the only trace left by time. I hold it gently with my hand, cherish it carefully, and hide my sadness in this autumn.
The delicate Mark water cup on the table is carved with orchids. The coffee in the cup has already cooled, but it is just a virtual table. Just like in front of people, under the seemingly youthful appearance, who has thought about it? In fact, what a cold heart is hidden!
Autumn also breeds hope, which matures in decay, so there is hope and hope for life. They are looking forward to the next spring rain, when cherries will turn red and plantains will turn green.
Perhaps, we are also the watchers of dreams, guarding the lamp of hope in our hearts and pursuing eternal dreams along the direction guided by the lamp. However, I can't go on the pilgrimage wholeheartedly like a devout believer. Because of my heart, it suddenly cooled into ice in that season of falling leaves, and it was cold and water-cooled. The lamp of hope in my heart has gone out. Who else could it be? Re-ignite for me, re-ignite the light of dreams!
Looking back suddenly, autumn has quietly gone, and I am the only one, tasting the desolation of this season. But always miss the sadness of fallen leaves; Missed the tragic sunset of the long river; I also missed the sadness of the ancient road and the sunset.
A person's autumn is so lonely; A person's autumn, so sad; A person's autumn is so long ...
A person's autumn prose 2 When a late autumn rain falls in this city, the chill is like understanding your mind and transmitting the autumn breath to people who are still immersed in summer through layers of clothes without reservation. So, in a casual moment, you can feel its existence everywhere: the locust tree that covered the sky in the past shook off its green clothes in the autumn wind; Graceful weeping willows seem to have lost their unique charm and hung brown branches feebly; The blooming roses in the flower bed in front of the building are also covered with a thin layer of autumn frost, which looks pale and powerless.
Quite critical. In the face of this sudden autumn, I am obviously not ready. It always makes me feel a little sad to face the rush of time.
I miss autumn, and this nostalgia is not subject to any reason. Those lost literati left us countless wonderful chapters about autumn, with passionate sadness, sad feelings, sadness of parting and joy of reunion. Autumn feelings, like the colors of this season, are rich and rich in connotation.
In my dusty memory, there are many distant fragments about my hometown in autumn. In the vast fields, the thick morning mist, like a girl dancing with a veil, enveloped the awakened village in ethereal nothingness. When the sun showed its bright red face, it reluctantly dispersed. The ox tied to the door turned over and paced leisurely in the sweet voice. The early sparrows stood on the treetops, combing their feathers carefully. Smoke rising from the roof wafted over the village, and the smell of millet and potatoes floated in the kitchens of every household. In every yard next to it, you can see the corn on the roof is golden and bright, the pepper hanging on the south wall blushes in the sun, and the apples waiting to be picked in the garden bend the branches ... The harvest at your fingertips makes this dry cigarette feel particularly sweet after dinner.
After plowing the footprints of cattle, the plowshare evenly opens the land covered with wheat stubble, potatoes show their snow-white bodies under the wave of shovels, and rapeseed covered with pods piles up into hills under sickles ... The sun and moon in autumn always seem busy and full.
Night falls slowly in the starlight, and there are no more loud frogs and endless crickets. There are small square tables on the kang of every household, guessing fists and playing cards ... farmers can rest assured that they will enjoy their time.
Now, such a night seems so far away from me that I can't touch or feel it. The night in the city is bustling and impetuous. We seem to forget the changes of seasons, the beautiful scenery that does not need to be whitewashed, and every touch that nature brings to our hearts. Just like this coming autumn, I feel lost and full of regret.
Time is ruthless. What is ruthless is more than time?
Summer walkers hobble away.
Leave the back to the wind and rain of the season.
Dead leaves accompany the footsteps of autumn.
In contemplation
A silent and desperate sigh ...
Melodious piano sounds, like white clouds floating leisurely, like a slowly flowing stream, like a path covered with fallen leaves, are just the whispers of lovers ... People are always emotional animals, and urban traffic can make us forget the original pace of life and natural scenery, but after all, it can't imprison the soul of people's thoughts. What finally touches us is the real and unpretentious emotion!
Feel every trace left by life, feel every shock brought by the soul, thank every passion of life experience, and feel the eternal' autumn' in the depths of this soul!
A person's autumn prose 3 A person's autumn is also autumn.
A bottle of water, a mobile phone, a person, in the cold noon, on the road. Starting from Antaimen in the north of Yixian County, Liaoning Province, head west along the south bank of Daling River. The road is unfamiliar, there is no goal, and I walk aimlessly, just to calm my mind.
Walking, the autumn sunshine, warm, shines on my face. You can hear your breathing. Many trees in Beiguan Woods have been cut down because of the need of Daling River reconstruction project. I clearly remember one of the Woods, which I planted myself in high school. Now it has been replaced by yellow sand. I wonder what will be built in the future? Poplar leaves have just turned yellow, yellow as pears, dry, occasionally falling three or two pieces, gently falling on my shoulder. The leaves that fell on my shoulder reminded me of my son when he was a child. He leaned on my shoulder and smiled at me.
Walking on the gravel road, you can hear the rustling of your own footsteps. Spider, flat, crawling back and forth on the road, thoughtful, is it like me, looking for something? Vitex negundo fruit, one grain at a time, so full. The stem of wormwood turns red, like a red coral. Poplar leaves fall, the trunk looks taller and straighter, and you can see the blue sky when you look up. It's so high.
In the open space of the forest, some old people spontaneously organized together, singing and dancing, and enjoyed themselves. Almost all the crops in the field have been harvested, and all the corn stalks have been pulled out, only a few peanuts are still there. Peanuts are suitable for sandy land, and peanut seedlings are almost dry. Perhaps farmers and friends have no time to harvest them.
There is always one fork in the road after another for you to choose from. Lu, where will you take me? Which road will have more beautiful scenery? Every road has the latest ruts. Ask the way when you meet a firewood collector. They all say go west, go north and follow the road.
This is another sand road. Walking on it, soft, across the shoes, seems to feel the heat, quietly. Leave footprints and immediately cover them with fine sand. However, my appearance still alarmed the magpies in the bushes. They protested to me silently, and then, five or six magpies suddenly flew over my head and began to sing, probably treating me as a moving carrion and wanting to be their dinner.
On the beach, wormwood grows one after another, very neat, and everyone is more than one person tall. Sometimes sparrows and quails will run out of the grass, probably chasing small insects on the ground. Crickets and slugs in the grass make wonderful music by rubbing their wings. In this autumn, birds also sing beautiful songs. What are they singing? Why are you singing? Listen carefully to the whistle that looks like a person, and hate that I don't understand its voice.
I sat down and took a nap in a cool place. Fortunately, my feet are not blistered. I took a sip of water to see if it was still early and the sun had not set. Then I walked on and suddenly saw a red maple forest. Although the maple is not as tall as me, its leaves are too red. Some are changing from yellow to orange, and some are turning purple, which is very eye-catching under the sunlight. I couldn't help picking a few pieces, but they didn't look good on trees. Without the leaves of life, it loses its vitality.
That's it. Stop, stop, stop. I like walking alone, and I am used to walking alone. Quiet is just what I want. Quiet is what I want. I was destined to choose loneliness all my life. I have long been at peace with the world and far away from all kinds of distractions. I don't envy others' success, and I don't expect myself to be rich. It is enough to eat and sleep quietly. Walking, tired, but satisfied-this autumn belongs to me and I also belong to this autumn.
Walking, I vaguely saw the hill opposite. There are people in the mountains, and flocks of pigeons fly out from time to time. I am very excited. I feel that the Wanfo Hall Grottoes may be in this mountain. I have seen that dirt road, Daling River, Woods and rotten grass. I want to go to Wanfo Hall Grottoes on foot to see the autumn lotus, but I'm in a hurry and my legs are sore. I decided to drive back. I'm afraid I'll go too far and find my way home.
A person's autumn prose 4 is it that you won't take the initiative to find me if I don't talk to you? The autumn wind blew away the fallen leaves. Four years ago, I opened QQ, chose to surf the Internet, and kept adding friends. Three years ago, when I opened QQ and chose to surf the Internet, N windows would pop up and I had a good chat. Two years ago, I opened QQ, chose stealth, and occasionally popped up a few windows, so I couldn't talk a few words; A year ago, I opened QQ, chose to surf the Internet, and looked forward to the pop-up window. The result was only expectation; Now, open QQ, watch the dynamics and praise silently, but in my heart, I feel helpless, because we have experienced too much bitterness, or we have seen too many joys and sorrows.
Where should a person put his heart in autumn? Are you in a good mood in the dead of night? If possible, I want us to listen to the melody echoing in our heartstrings and feel the endless taste of life, the ups and downs of life. Love is like holding sand, but who has sand in his hand? All I have is an untraceable concern. Memories flow in the long river of time. Who will accompany me to recall? Accustomed to chatting with you, accustomed to talking to you, accustomed to listening to your voice, all the habits are just for you, and you returned to your place alone that night. On the way back, you called me and said you were scared, so you talked to me. We talked about each other's college life and their favorite novels. But now I look at your back in pairs, but I am scattered in the wind alone. Lighted cigarettes and light smoke in their hands slowly drifted away with the autumn wind. I stopped to look back, but I couldn't see the distance clearly. It should be the dark fog that blurred my eyes, so I turned to stop looking. If I can see my back at this time, I may not be able to help crying, because I left all my happiness ahead. Without sunshine and lights, I don't know how long I can stretch my figure, but the road ahead needs me to go. The ends of the earth, where is my home? I am afraid of losing, and I am even more afraid of being alone. I'm drunk with a glass of wine. I feel warm and sober, but there is no temperature. I want to stay drunk, but I'm afraid I won't have the courage to face you when I see you.
If you are still here, I won't leave. who is it? Who made the promise easily? Who despised it?