? In the past
When the dawn was about to arrive, the snow-colored flowers fell from a thousand feet of cloudy sky, spilling out and fluttering in the sky. The light-white moonlight shines on the earth buried by wind and snow, reflecting a soft glow.
At this time, the Palace of Versailles has been clothed in snow color, looks so beautiful. Outside the window, the bluebonnet has been removed from the heavy makeup, standing on the side of a good boy waiting for the snow to moisturize.
From time to time, the sky swept over a few birds, if you have enjoyed the snow in Paris, you will remember them, they are perennial in the north and south of the migratory birds. When they come, the flowers are bright and sunny; when they go, the trees are decorated with snowflakes. I don't know when to stop a few birds on the tree, perhaps they are tired of flying, want to rest on the branches of the tree to rest it.
People dressed in fancy clothes proudly tilted their heads, quickly walked into the Palace of Versailles, a step did not want to stay. The moment they stepped into the palace, there were a few occasional complaints: "What the hell weather! It's freezing!"
In the sky overlooking Paris, the snow god heard, slightly knit two curved crescent-like eyebrows, and then raised a touch of inexplicable smile. The snow in Paris is always like this.
The snow of Paris, with heavy footsteps, walking through the light of the past.
? Now
When the last touch of light brown in October also retracted on the favor of Paris, the fragrance of hyacinth is also in the sunlight shallow sleep at the time, into contemplation, they are waiting for the next October's descent, but also waiting for the fall of the flying snow. I pulled open the twilight veil, suddenly glimpsed the distant stars of the color of the snow, lightly closed my eyes, the last of the warmth of the piety, then according to the cold wind dissipated into thin air.
Snow whistles and lingers in the cold wind. What you hear in your ears is the whimper of winter, the whimper of snow, the whimper of the world; what you see in front of you is the tears of winter, the tears of snow, the tears of the world. It is the square of Trocadero, how many people stand by the wishing fountain, walking around, but always repeating the same action, that is, hands clasped together, praying to the snow god: "May the snowy moon go quickly, and send warmth back to Paris." How many people will stand on high to enjoy the snow and praise its elegance? How many others will be able to laugh at this moment? Our world, our life, is nothing more than a snow fall, only the process may also be mixed with a sigh of regret for the impermanence of the world.
Paris snow, with a hazy elegance, with a hazy elegance and go. The snow of Paris is about to flood the world of the present.
The future
When the pear trees on the banks of the Seine wither, the snows of Paris fall. I will listen to the sound of falling snow on street corners and feel the silence of winter. I will split the time inch by inch, brewed into the round of raw pear snow. I will look back after ten years to remember the beauty of the snow, that is the remnants of the past life in the moment to remind "snow, came down."
The pear tree withered old figure in the cover of the street lamp, under the embellishment of the snow, looks more beautiful. Although it is withered and old, it can live forever.
At the end of time, there is a hidden door, behind the door is a silver-white world, it is snow, let me engrave eternal snow.
The snowy night of Paris, like a piece of wings, took me to fly through endless despair, and finally stayed in the mild snow. That with the falling snow quietly falling city, is about to break free from the shackles of the night, revealing a vague outline. The snow was suddenly colored by a touch of blood red, and the guiding flower of the River of Forgetfulness was blooming on the other side.
I think the most beautiful place in Paris, not the fashion there, not the perfume there, but the elegance of the snow, the elegance of the snow, the bitterness of the snow ......
The snow in Paris, dotted with the night sky, let me stay ......
Snow is the dream of the rain, the dream is the snow attachment.