I know that it is the most primitive call of nature, sincere and sincere. It is the simple folk customs that touch people's hearts, or the original scenery that shocks people's hearts, only to know that dreaming is a thousand years.
Walking on the mud in the country, listening to the wind, waiting for the rain to fall.
Fine and dense, Fifi is continuous, but it also falls silently all night. The night is still, and several lights jump in the silence of the earth. I can't find the rain, only the long sigh of the ancient village.
The mountains are foggy and the villages are swaying. All kinds of sadness, all kinds of sadness, when the wind comes, it will disperse. Cool thin in the dark night, dirty, hidden in the oblique wind and drizzle, gradually faded away.
Relying on Taihang Mountain, the village is peaceful and dreamy.
A gust of wind rose in a trance, and suddenly the clouds cleared, and the stars shone in the night, reflecting the villages all over the sky, like Van Gogh's starry sky, serene and quiet. I held my breath for fear of disturbing this rainy night.
At night, my head leans on the village, lost in a hazy dream. Holding a paintbrush, I drew brocade, sunrise, cypress, pine and cypress, misty mountains and rivers, and faint houses, such as Penglai Yingzhou and Space Wonderland. I can't say it at this time. The village in the deep mountains is so quiet that I forget the time. Look at the clouds. Look at the clouds. It's probably so quiet.
The persimmon tree at the entrance of the village is still hung with glittering and translucent water drops, which gently drop into the dream.