On a bitter winter's night, a few naked stars were pathetically freezing, shivering almost audibly as their teeth fought against each other in the cold.
The little stars swayed in the cold air as if shivering with cold.
Whenever the evening curtain comes, the whole of Pangang a fishing fire brilliant, like the underground shining stars, than the underground stars are harder to see, but also rich absorption.
Silver-white moonlight sprinkled on the ground, everywhere the mournful chirping of crickets. The aroma of the night filled the air, weaving a soft web that covered all the sights. What the eye touches is covered with this soft net of things, any grass and trees, are not as in the daytime as the reality, they have a blurred, ethereal colors, each of which hides its delicate point, all keep its secrets, so that people have a dreamlike feeling.
The sky at night is beautiful and picturesque. The night sky is waiting for us to unveil its mysterious veil, winter is very cold, the wind is very strong, this season, it is very cold and clear, there is no trace of warmth in the night, so lonely, cold, the loneliness of the heart.
Night, pouting. Shyly lifted the blinding fog. I saw him a coat of black, pale spilling what pick up what, his long leisurely appeal ...... fate once admired ......?
The cold wind of Beijing night in late fall seems to be able to penetrate through the tiny pores on the skin and drill into every corner of the body. Such a season, such a state, such a me, seems to lack some positive energy again. A person quietly waiting for the arrival of winter.?
The sky at night has a waning moon, perhaps not quite a waning moon, but it is past the full moon, casting a cold light onto the ground. The trees danced with what few leaves they had left, scratching their heads, at least they didn't have a few days to be graceful this year. It's going to rain again, not the soft rain of last week, but sleet that hits your face like a knife. The wind will be back again too, this time with a vengeance! The warm days were over, and winter was finally here.
The cold night, shrinking neck of pedestrians in a hurry, in front of the door of the osmanthus tree exudes the remnants of the rich, fine golden rustling fall all over the ground, the falling flowers, although defeated, the residual fragrance is not endless, the night wind blew, is already cold, winter quietly surrounded by, sitting in a bright home, a bowl of warm soup, is the most down-to-earth happiness.
I still prefer the winter in the north, the air is the taste of biting cold, winter should be that cold, the night of the snow is especially beautiful, the cold breath has a kind of let you can not forget the magic. Home is the cold echo of the northern winter night when you shout out loud.
The night wind hit the face of Sydney and felt a slight shrinkage.
In the night, the trees seemed to stand like hideous giants, stacked in piles of dense black shadows, and the gaps in the leaves seemed to be a thousand pairs of small eyes, peering mysteriously at the surroundings.
The quiet night was chilled by the moonlight.
The night was so cold that a circle of frozen water around the lake would freeze again with a finger of ice.
The night was cloudy and drizzly, and the fields were as dark as if they had been snapped into a cauldron, and you couldn't see a thing.