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This is a clear bridge.
People say "it's hard to be confused", but no one says "it's hard to understand". But this little bridge is clear. There is a red heart lying in transparent body, which is worthy of these two words.
There is nothing particularly attractive about this small bridge. In winter, there is a seamless layer of ice in the thin river. This curved bridge seems to be the only creature with a little sense of rhythm: it spans both banks and flies low in the world. In spring and summer, the antenna that the sparrow once stood on trembled slightly like the seam where the eyes of a sleeping person closed, as if remembering the line spectrum of the birds that had already flown south, and drew a scoop, but the scoop was a little "inch", which restored the true colors here.
In fact, the small bridge in summer is no different, except that everything around it is completely new and put her down. The weeds at the bridgehead faded, and with a wave of his right hand, he wiped his face and put on a brand-new youth mask; * *' s ice turned into water, blindly singing the song "La La"; The sky overhead is like a nostalgia for the world, gathering around, deeply absorbing the essence and spitting out a few strands of sad wind. Only the small bridge has solidified. In this era when everything is reviving and budding, as a still life written by a painter, I think foolishly.
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