The poetry of rain, rustling down in the bleak and cool prose essays

Breathless, silent heart, almost speechless. Thoughts, instantly with the sound of rain outside the window, accompanied by curling breeze, slowly and walk, pacing around, not affected by the above quarrels, wandering in the air filled, dark phew.

This is the summer time in the afternoon, passing time, not affected by the scorching and cool, and the rain with the moistening, not leaving the slightest affection and imprint, as if it did not happen.

Accompanying his mother in the hospital care, registration, blood draws, laboratory tests, inspection, medicine, infusion, layer by layer, up and down the stairs, busy and happy. Moreover, it was raining, walking under an umbrella, soaking wet, the mother complained bitterly, "take money to buy crime, I knew not hospitalized", okay? No. Sickness is not hospitalized, no injections and medication, no examination and no infusion, this is impossible. The first thing you need to do is to get the money to pay for the hospitalization, and then you have to pay for the hospitalization of the patient.

The rain is still coming down, and it's good! Settled mother, they also have to hold an umbrella and go, continue to shuttle in the hospital, for the mother to deal with other doctors to deliver the relevant matters, simply can not be slow to treat the mother sick abduction, can not afford to suffer, not filial words, haha, Lei Gong fire flash will go to find you, off the hand.

Floating, the rain lashes like a rainbow, drops on the ground, splashing, "a little a bubble, long years of good sleep; just now, the hospital lying sick bed." Mother's illness, the same as the rain, under the wash and sprinkle, the disease comes to the clinic busy. Put the dream, also spend money on the hospital bed, woke up the day, the dream is a dream, reality is still reality; rain is rain, I am still myself.

The world in the rain, is the world of water, drop a face, cool whoosh, immersed in nightmares, water foam filled, unconsciously, the rain seems to be crying, will be sad tears collapse, full of submerged, cesspool one by one, east flow, west ripple, pawing the toes to pass slowly.

Open your heart, swept to see the rain, trees, plants, vegetation, mangroves, rain intoxication, tempted the earth fast sleep, cozy ripples, in the cesspool disorientation, cruise day, is far away with the dream.

Ideas have flowers, but long ago there was no, continuous underground, rain ravaged the flowers, stamens early into mud, and the land, into a piece of Li, swaying head, accept the baptism of rain.

Poignant rustling down, no three volts should be hot, this year's summer is really good, far from the heat out of greater irritability. The joy of often, flashing poetry, accompanied by a thick night, clinging to the neon flashes, dappled up the shadow of the trees, the Brahmsian light strange, bumpy, do not have to discuss, all things have their own place.

Haha, frogs sentence, in the night darkness appeared, like singing rain song, popping out jumping cheer. Rain ah rain, how glad; blade on the water, is taking advantage of my mouth; chewing wolf, mosquitoes screaming bitterly; did not hide in the temple of the emperor of the gods, but came to the frogs to beat the tip.

Cicadas also took the opportunity to take advantage of this, a long line of long-sounding, "squeaky" clear as loud and clear, with the frogs sing a double reed, up and down in the thick of the night, leisurely laughter, cozy very much.

Suddenly found the rain on the eaves, as if there is a bridge over the trunk, water under the pulse of warmth, flowing spots; a pedestrian, as if from the branches of the tree gaps, crossing and crossing and going, condensed into an ink scroll, in this rainy and foggy night, seems to be a different world, so that I am intoxicated up the mind, to become a hand-painted painting hand, painting on the masterpiece for the black night points of praise.

Feel the rain rose again, under the pattering sound, worthy of a cool summer night cool bed, baking care of unintentional plain paper, by which to stir the hot emotions, gentle writing, thick and broad, the moonless night, crushed foam into a fan.

Although the daytime story is over, leaving a long lingering charm, do not need you to struggle, look at the lilac tree, expectant and whispering under the umbrella flower, I am there, with the lover together with the belly, laughter will be the mystery of the night, lifting the veil, chopped up to become a fragmented, in the fantasy space riddle.

Fragrant nostrils, hair dispersal Fantine like water years, swimming in the night agitation, abandon the confusion, for the hope of a new life, ups and downs, life fancy.

I am such a person, no interest, only know in the text swimming, the rest of everything is zero. The ordinary, uneventful, sweet by their own comfort, a cup of water can drink out of the delicacies, tasting out of the mountains and the sea, chanting out of the pen and ink, in the mouth and tongue tip, tea flavor, chewing out the sweetness.

Life is so simple, one day at a time moistening youth, one after another, fluttering swirls, peach blossom like a journey through the years, interpretation of the landscape of the mind. I can not help but collide with the night, there is no pride in the ridicule, popping out of the corner of the mouth, alas, rain, I do not know to what hour.

The rain seems to feel, not too long, stopped. But my footsteps still did not stop, walking around the hospital, medical patients are really too much, nooks and crannies, Kaka Kakaku, are sleeping bodies, as this rain, eat well, wear well, play well, lack of exercise, naturally sick early; not like me this melon child, but also shuttling in the rain, every day do not walk on more than 20,000 steps, how to close the troops back to the nest. Therefore, nowadays, many middle-aged and elderly people jumping square dance, running, walking, as well as doing a variety of sports, we should be treated with kindness. After all, the birth of the disease, not up to the doctor, only to exercise the body Bur stick, eat Bur incense, not sick, or less sick, only a small disease, and finally peacefully end of life.

Let it have! No, just wait for it to disappear; in the end have good? The first thing I want to do is to get out of the way. The ghosts do not know the thing, the heart to provoke me!

To the hospital room where my mother lives, she asked me with concern. I answered, did some formalities, walked some footsteps, but also thought of some bad to say. She knew I was exercise da man, naturally, again and again no words. Just asked me to hurry home to live, there is a large family, let you go to be the pillar; she has long been accustomed to living alone, and there are two or three patients in the same ward, just the same disease. The first thing I did was to ask my mother to take a look at the newest version of the book, the one with the most important features.

The world is still dark at night, there is no difference between the `black in the passing years, a variety of street lamps flashing, through the endless stream of car lights shooting like a rainbow, will be the city at night, with the street lamps, rendering the illusion of dream, charm bizarre.

Is not I should look for the innocence of the night, for the pure memories of stamping pure love; can I ever fall mixed scars, unknowingly hidden pain, making the steps can only be slow, in the light and easy to drain the soul, for the charming night swept up in the eyes, for their own ordinary ordinary eulogize the true intimacy, or else to become a celebrity with a big rich and powerful skin, surely do not dare to hang out on the street in the middle of the night, even if kung fu is superb, but "The gun is easy to hide, dark arrows are difficult to prevent", but also inevitably scared gray not dare to show their faces, can only quietly hide into the place to go, enjoy the night of the self soaring.

The hustle and bustle of the day, at this point in time, early stagnation of breathing, and the silence of the night, lonesome, just right on the field. But he himself is a lonely step with the mediocre, walking more and more sober, precipitation emotion filter clean, but the soul of the flatboat sailing, thinking one after another time moment, passing everything like a movie, sieve away the pain of impurities, as much as the edge of the happy shore, feel the memory of the really mysterious, not false is the human nature of the good to the God.

Young people often use life for money, old people and use money for life. Age is fucking upside down, shivering, rambling, chattering, shouting out of the mountains and rivers, sadness out of the song, singing in the heart of the nest, staccato, for the wasted years, gloomy, sobbing tears.

"A young boy put pen to paper, sixty years to visit the work has not been accomplished; confidant is rare and rare, fleeting and shy. And in the literature to eliminate the years, ashamed of not many traces to play tourism; East rises and falls in the west sun red, ask yourself what?" Out of the mouth accounted for out of the chant, surprised to make themselves also feel surprised, let the night with the company, slowly long street flow.

Through the streets and alleys, spreading the pupil of the night, trance, wet earth, cesspool imprisoned in the ghosts of the ghosts of the ghosts, they look at me, I also face it, so that it can not start, and there is nothing to get into. Think of yourself, no money, no power, no name to the old man, only know the beauty of the night, left to appreciate the vision, the accumulation of Chinese characters Wen Gotham, repair compiled out of the countless people, can read the taste of tea, and then linger, for the spring, summer, autumn and winter seasons, the wind of the dream, in the high hillock back to the whirlpool.

The rain is always reluctant to exit the stage of history, the night is more of them to show off their feet, most people see and do not see anyway, is with the dream of sleep, they pattered, thousands of streams run out, a drop of the ground, stringing up the time round, moistening the river valley flow, the moon crushed out of the old, long story, drops of beads and even, diffuse and sound.

Still I, the umbrella out of the old high old high, do not care about the heart of the hot hope, the poetry of the rain temptation, rustling down in the poignant cool, paved the way for the surroundings, the young childish early off but not see, the road of growth passed away far, no longer go to worry about the rain of the unhappy, because they have long known, feet leaping sky, dazzling years, years, years of flowers, the passing of the water eastward flow, do not know, has gone to the door lintel of the home, "Eeeeeeeeeeee". "Eeeya" sound, open the door of the wife, has long been given a big smile, happy to let me, rushed to the wife open arms, embraced forward.