The day the wind rises, laugh at the falling flowers
A selection of insights:
The day the wind rises, laugh at the falling flowers
The original author of the Ziyu
The heart of the vegetarian as simple as a person light as tea, the beauty of the light, the party is pure. Whenever the change of seasons, life is as natural as the survival of the changes, the trail red sparse leaves in full bloom, summer gone, autumn still have to, as always, put into the next section of the splendor of the girls flowers, not with the seasons to go turn and wither, the inner coziness and calmness of the only to become the scenery of each season, in the wind, laughing at the flowers and leaves of the fluttering.
I don't know when the wind is blowing, whether it is in the spring of the blossoming flowers or the summer of the full shade of the green leaves, maybe it is the autumn harvest season of the moon and clear skies, and even more so is the winter of the snowflakes, but I will think of you when the wind is blowing.
Some people, collected into the bottom line of life, will always be treasured. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on some of the most popular products and services in the world, and then you'll be able to get your hands on some of them. A hundred years of looking back, a flash of time, drifting years, were originally a mistake, scattered in the corner of the sinking, surrounded by the silence of the years, remembering a piece of ink under the wisteria moon, the heart ripples back to the intoxicating enchanted scene like rhyme, express deep feelings are not yet awakened, lying in a drunken dream, do not realize.
Over the past few years, I have gotten used to writing blog posts late at night. At this time, there has been no external interference, the thoughts return to the quiet, through the keyboard to stay in those words is indeed the thoughts of the self, although there may not be much good, but there is a point to be sure, my heart is sincere, my emotions are sincere.
People to middle age, as a tree grows in the soil of realism. Many times your stubbornness, thirty years ago can be described as "cute", this day can only say that you do not know the time. Life is not flat Avenue feasible, in the hard we learn and understand the cherish, learn and understand the frank and calm.
The color of the moon is like water, and the starlight flickers. The wind blew green Jiangnan, blew awake my calm heart lake. A light touch of green sadness caged heart. True love does not need a reason, life does not need to explain. I'm not sure if you're going to be able to get the best out of me, but I'm sure you're going to be able to get the best out of me, and I'm sure you're going to be able to get the best out of me.
The wind blowing years, flicking a piece of paper water and light of the paper, so that the autumn leaves written in poetry, quietly tell. Touching the beauty of the autumn painting, touching the heart of the sensibility, brewing tears fall halo ink Xuan, spiritual scroll, pen and brush, everywhere is a poem.
The day the wind rose, laughing at the falling flowers; snow dance season, raise a cup to the moon. This is the first time I've been to the United States. Sometimes, we should not stay long, then we should leave in a hurry. (
In the place to stay, perhaps, will be another kind of growth.
The second part of the story:
The day the wind rises, I laugh at the falling flowers
The day the wind rises, I roam alone with the wind, and see the world sinking and sinking.
The day the wind rose, I was drunk on the hill, letting my shirt rise and fall with the wind, and letting the clouds drift by quietly.
The day the wind rises, I want to think of the wounded bird how to go, want to think of the lonely boat when to shore.
The day the wind rose, the tung flower was full of ground, who knew it was a night rain last night. The cold courtyard is full of depression, think of the helplessness and despair when Daiyu buried the flowers. The dead branches at the end of the prosperity is waiting for the arrival of spring or the life of the burned out of the hollow it! When the flowers bloomed, Tong Xiang sprinkled, the poet in writing the beauty of the moment of blossom, music in praise of the beauty of the blossom of the rich, and how many people in the sighs of regret in the wind and the flowers fall it!
The wind up the day the flowers are colorful, the calm, the serenity, the elegance, the calm, the simplicity, the dashing, let me envy; flowers with the wind down, floating away from the previous confusion, floating away from the branches of the sad, the loss, the despair, the attachment, and let my heart ache for a long, long time.
The day the wind rises, the gardenia blossoms, wafting the faint fragrance of flowers, long ago, such as the years that passed quietly. The fragrance of the flowers into thoughts, in the days of your far away accompanied by your warmth, accompanied by your love. In the lonely journey with the fine wind, sipping tea, distant thoughts, the wind for fun! How much I want to carry your hand in this ordinary day under the sunset, the shade of the forest. This is the most beautiful sound of the wind, this time the falling flowers have feelings.
The day the wind rose, did not laugh at the falling flowers, just want to open arms to enjoy the feeling of flying, right! It is this kind of tension, the feeling of flying. I love this, let the mind flutter with the wind, to think, to chase 。。。。。。 The shallow trace of that smile is enough to make the falling flowers willing to drift with the wind, but also enough to make me sleep in your flowery embrace.
The wind up days, there are too many memories, residual a little warm breath is still my sweet. No longer alone in the small forest walks, no longer alone in sighing the golden afterglow, just because the heart of your residual fragrance let me recall.
The day the wind picks up is no longer laughing at the falling flowers, the day the wind picks up is no longer thinking about loneliness.
The day the wind rose without memory 。。。。。。
A selection of epiphanies:
The day the wind rose
The day the wind rose, stood in front of the window, let the long hair fall apart, cover the red face, tears fall like rain, think of that folded wings of the bird to drift to where, where to find the warmth of the nest, think of that drifting canoe to sail to where, where is the last journey home?
The day the wind rose, the thoughts rose and fell, the heart is chaotic and difficult to calm. Dust like smoke, this world as Ping, drifting all the way through, destined to this life of loneliness, can not find a place to go, can not see the sun, can not find pleasure, always smiling and laughing, tears out, that bland sadness, the heart will be worn into thousands of barn holes.
Windy days, blowing the long flowing skirt, listening to the sweet voice of the song, the story of the wind and flowers, and then not the smile of the night dream. The color of the brocade, weaved into the sky beautiful flawless clouds it, to be the next life and then do the beautiful woman's wedding dress.
The day the wind rose, most like to invite the moon, dial a vegetarian song, in the quiet willow, alone and the moon in the often E whispered the story of the heart, most like to the heart into the text, v. thousands of years of melancholy, the most like the song of 10,000 songs, sung piercing pain, sewing up the exhausting wounds.
The days of the wind, finally learn and understand the wind alone to travel, look at life as a play, learn and understand the window alone to listen to the rain, enjoy the cozy minutes and seconds, learn and understand the journey alone, appreciate all the way to the sun flowers, learn and understand the mirror alone to make up, greed to appreciate the smile of the red face.
The body is like a duckweed drifting through the years
The heart is like still water through life
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