Silent winter nights are reddened by white snow, and endless magnificence is highlighted by falling snowflakes. How can the residual light of the bright moon in the past be unparalleled, like pieces of goose down, gently floating on the silent earth?
Look up at it and ponder its beauty carefully. Feather-shaped flying flowers are shyly hidden under the dark night, bringing the most beautiful scenery in winter to another world. Never make noise, dare not disturb, don't stir the silent night, only bring a surprise in the early morning.
Tonight, looking at your arrival, I sigh deeply. You dance gracefully and dance the steps of two worlds, bringing people not only amazing, but also touching music that lingers in their hearts for a long time.
Staring at it makes me feel more charming. The outline of hexagonal white crystal is more moving because of its short stay, and its beautiful moment can only be seen in the moment of flutter and dance.
This is the snowflake, gentle, thin, soft and beautiful.
In the poet's pen, the flowers flying all over the sky are interpreting the moving feelings of sadness, and hundreds of millions of falling snow are interpreting the moving legend. ...
The white snow was covered with a layer of golden light by the faint light, which made it more noble and elegant. Although there is no delicate and charming rose, no fragrance of jasmine, it is not as delicate and charming as azalea, and it is not as gorgeous and rich as peony. But it does flaunt itself, with a little coolness, indulges in nature, spins and dances smartly, and has its own indescribable beauty.
Snowflakes, life is so short, but they can fly and play so carefree, turn into beautiful patterns and bring people the breath of winter.
I am convinced that the glittering and translucent on the garbage shows your beautiful mark. The vast land has your weak body, and the cold wind blows you to death. Between heaven and earth, I will always remember your carefree. If people don't pay attention to your charm and thank you for your winter breath, you can still dance happily. Because, as heaven and earth witness, your heart is full. Because, you are the messenger of winter. Because, because of you, winter is winter. Tonight, because of you, this night is beautiful.
Praise you, the messenger of winter, praise you, dedicate yourself and make people happy.
Quietly, you suddenly disappeared silently, leaving behind the crystal of the world and taking away the dirty air. ...
Chapter 2: The calendar of Xue prose has turned over beginning of winter unconsciously, and Xiaoxue is not far from beginning of winter.
Although October is winter, you can see that there is no trace of winter in the mountains.
Look at the colorful sapium sebiferum leaves on the hillside, showing her beautiful charm in the breeze, and the milky camellia blooms in large green camellia trees. Even the golden clusters of wild chrysanthemums and Senecio scandens on the roadside are blooming in this early winter season, and they don't care about this winter. What's more, the temperature is still above 15 degrees at this time, and it will snow when there is light snow. I think some people even want to see the snow.
Speaking of snow, I remember when I was a child, as soon as I entered the October of the lunar calendar, the sky would begin to snow. At that time, we were wearing cotton-padded clothes and trousers made by our mother, running back and forth in the snow with our brothers, busy chasing bamboo magpies and rabbits.
I like listening to cotton shoes crunching on the cold snow. Because I like it, I will deliberately step on a few snows or deliberately pick up the snow that no one has walked on. Tickle is very interesting.
Bamboo magpies are a bit like magpies, and their feathers are gray. They like living in bamboo forests. Whenever it snows, they are too cold to fly and flock. We chased from village to village until they couldn't fly.
How many people does it take to chase a hare? Everyone took their dogs and walked along the mountain forest, shouting. Brothers don't want us to follow because we girls run slowly. We always run behind secretly, and when we run, we are thrown away and have to give up.
The temperature was low at that time. Whenever it snows, the pond will freeze. When I was a child, fishing for ice by the pond was also one of our pleasures. We slowly dig a hole in the middle with a nail or a knife, and then string the ice cubes together with a rope, and everyone hangs it, or string all the ice cubes on a bamboo pole and two people carry it. A group of children moved ice cubes from one end of the village to the other. They had a good time.
What makes people greedy is the crystal clear ice hanging under the eaves. My mother kept saying that we couldn't eat the eaves water, but we still beat it down with bamboo poles on our backs and ate it secretly. As crisp as the popsicle we bought on the street in June.
In that era with four distinct seasons, snow was a frequent visitor in winter, unlike now, only one snow can be seen in a year.
Whenever it snows, I always hear an old man say, I hope it snows harder and longer this year, so that there will be no mosquitoes and flies everywhere next year.
Think about what the old people said! Now the climate is getting warmer, and there are mosquitoes and flies all year round. I think now we really need a heavy snow, a big, big snow, a white and flawless snow floating from the frozen soil, to remove pests for us, rebuild a new environment, help me find the snow in my memory and find the joy in my memory.
Chapter 3: Essays on Snow In winter, I walked in the snow, cold and warm; Confused and confused. In spring, I still walk in the snow, lingering and sweet; Soothes the faint wounds of the soul with pear flowers full of edges and corners.
I write too much about snow because I live in the hometown of snow and regard it as a part of my life.
I don't want to look for fairy tales in my dreams. But suddenly, accidentally and inevitably, I was lost in the wild snow flame, firmly bound by the warmth of "a thousand pieces", focused and stubborn, burning my soul and hurting my heart. I was drunk for no reason, drunk in a cold and burning, sad, painful, happy, afraid to honor that silent promise. I don't know if I'm right or wrong. Take a lifetime as collateral ...
In order to cherish the elegance and infatuation of snow; I live in an ice city. I bury myself in the snow for poetry and life. In order to nourish the desert island of literature, I quietly turned into transparent dew and watered my dream home.
Snowflakes are my helplessness when I am cold and my true feelings when I am helpless. Her tyranny once made me tremble in the cold; Her infatuation makes me helpless in the face of reason; Her concern is the heat energy on which my life depends. How to face every winter snowflake always hurts my fragile feelings. I can't stop crying. I want to stop talking. I don't know how to watch the last cold and hot scenery of the life season.
There is a migratory bird's home in the snow nest in the north, and the crazy snow burns a gentle and charming warm winter; When the weather-beaten spirit flew back from the south, the snow had melted and the last drop of water had flowed away last night. Burned snow ash flew into a flag in the hot karst, lit up a pair of wings and finally returned home.
Last night, the candle was like tears, reflecting the west window, bathing my helplessness and sleeplessness. When the frozen snow came, a bud bloomed again.
The last pair of wings was burnt by the cold flame and landed like my glasses. Innocent poems were smashed into groups and scattered into mud before the red sun came. ...
Who lured me to be excited when I shouldn't be excited, to dream when I shouldn't be dreaming, and to be sad when I shouldn't be sad? The once rational and calm elf lost himself in the snowstorm and couldn't find his way home. ...
Quietly, you flew away, before spring came, you disappeared from my sight ... In the end, you didn't leave my world, you returned silently in repentance, with guilt and guilt in piety. Swallow's tears are dripping blood, and her warm heart is full of tears. ...
Burning in the cold snow has become an immortal landscape, moving towards eternity in a short life. ...