I used to stand on the roof and look into the distance, watching how the sunset trudged forward, how the dust drifted in the vast expanse, and how the sun poured down from the lush green leaves.
I have seen soft sunshine in the deep spring. The sound of fallen leaves from big trees outside the window often makes me think it's raining, and the orange leaves float far away by the light.
I think this may be poetic!
Poetry, like happiness, fills every corner of the world.
Some people say that life is like a poem, ignorant and wise, full of vitality, accompanied by helplessness and sadness, even screaming in tears and heartbreaking pain.
I remember climbing a mountain once. It was autumn, and the most beautiful thing in autumn was dusk. The setting sun shines on the western hills, and the birds come back bit by bit and fly to the nest in a hurry, which is touching. As the sun sets and night falls, the wind and insects sound particularly refreshing, but they are always bleak. ..... This is the so-called "sunset, Tianya reduced people"!
Another example is rain, which moistens the hearts of many literati throughout the ages. What is as smooth as butter is "the rain in the sky is as smooth as resentment, and the grass in the distance is near, but there is nothing"; Light beauty is "sneaking into the night with the wind, moistening things silently"; The most beautiful thing is "the mountains are empty and rainy" ...
Holding a book and a cup of tea, just to stay and read quietly. Life seems full of poetry everywhere!
I feel that there is always an irresistible cool tone in Zhang Ailing's novels. Just like Love in a Fallen City, there is a quiet and gloomy between the lines, but it has endless significance worthy of pondering and thinking, full of vitality and hope. That kind of classicality has poetry that other books can't match.
You can always see a flower, an old tree or more in the alley. My heart is full of happiness. I also think of Mr. Dai Wangshu's rain lane: a long, lonely rain lane with an oil-paper umbrella ... "
It often rains in my hometown. When the town is shrouded in a mist, walking between the gray tiles and white walls of the town seems to be in the gap between breathing and breathing, full of the unique charm of the country's entry into the WTO. Standing in flowing water, the breathing of aquatic plants and fish becomes silky soft. So beautiful ...
Poetry is every detail in life. ...