I can't remember where it was, but the scenery did have a kind of indescribable charm, a stream gurgling out of the valley, the colorful stream quietly flowed by your feet, if this color is made up of withered flowers and fallen leaves. Crouch down, dip your hands into the water, slowly cupped, the crystal water will be filled in your hands, and then unknowingly escaped from your fingers, at this time, if you sniff your hands, a wisp of fragrance will be captured by your nose, which is interspersed with the scent of wildflowers. Pay close attention, if you are lucky, you will find a still fresh mountain flowers, dragging the wet stamens, still blooming. In this providential journey, the dust on the jade body has long been cleansed away, to be like a lotus flower, holy and simple.
Through the clear water of the stream, you can effortlessly see the pebbles set in the embankment, rounded and polished, this superb technique is perfect. Put in the hand to feel carefully, there is some coolness, a strand of penetration to the palm of the hand, slowly tighten the palm, unspeakably smooth, because he and your hand cleverly fit, without leaving a gap, dense tolerance, so that the hand and stone into one, you can not feel its existence, only as a clenched fist. Inadvertent slack, the pebbles will be out of the hand in an instant, puh-tom, fell into the stream, splashing the water at the same time, but also will be a red into the water, delicate sand will be stirred up, suspended in the water, will be the red lingering in the middle of it, and then gradually subsided, the water surface has returned to the calm, but the flower stayed here, she is lucky, with the current of the day came to an end, which is still considered to be a good return to the bar.
The breeze blowing across the stream drenched hands, immediately feel infinite pleasure in the heart, a long-lost delicate, listening to the trickle of the flow, the maple forest trembling, this is not the sound of heaven. I don't know where the stream originated from, in the never-ending play this mesmerizing good music.
The opposite bank of the stream is the mountain forest, a few rotten tree trunks full of fungus, full of life, gray tits pecking at will, this may be reborn. Apparently there are squirrels around, the fruit under the pine tower sparsely stayed there, just heard a sound, a pine tree fruit was removed, the action is very agile, followed by silence, fixed eyes, the original that the squirrel is watching himself, his feet have just moved, its silhouette has been in the branches of the tree a few feet high.
The sun's afterglow was fading, for a moment.
Moon with the cold
Whenever the moon sinks in the west, always want to say to it: early rest, you have accompanied me through a long night, there is your watch, obviously I will not be lonely and lonely, gentle moon waves, flowing in the mist, you often create a tranquil atmosphere for me, hoping that I can calmly fall asleep, but the result is " The moon's shadow swings the light dust, not realizing that the sky is far away." Your silence always makes me speculate, do you also have "hidden feelings, lips and teeth difficult to open" of the sadness. Wide Hao Lan sky, the only clear frost to leave traces, ogle shimmering stream full, heard the sky rhyme escape. Thin clouds are still lingering, the wind has touched your heartstrings, and there is a faint sound of depression. You are looking forward to your soulmate, without a thousand words, a light will be enough, even if the sadness of tears wet cloud sleeves, hand over the sparse window lights like beans, because "he" is savoring the same feelings.
The hidden pain of the heart, long ago, I do not know when to produce, in the trickle of the years under the soothing, did not fade, only the hook sinking, want to stop the more painful, difficult to cut off, difficult to forget. The river is clear and shallow, and how many times to go back to each other, a water between the surplus, the pulse is not allowed to speak.
Some times, really burned out, I thought I could rest, but the desire is in reality disillusioned. One night followed by another.
It is not the ridicule of others, but the lament of oneself, the moon is so, I am also so. Just at the moment of dawn, he faded away. The moon on the top of the willow, the vow to stay. The shadow of the sadness faded away, only to sigh not to look back.
The moon is still waiting.
The time has come to fall, I feel, your heart strings are messed up again, it is difficult to calm down. The moon's sideburns are frosty, and I suspect that the jade is hidden in the wadding, and the hidden song has not yet ended, and the silent night has not yet ended.
Companying you, traveling with you, you do not say, I understand. I'm not sure how long the night will be.
The night is a sad one, a lonely lamp weeping in the cold hall, but ask how much worry, then know the night is short and long.
Rolling Curtains
Midnight breeze, rolling curtains, the moon shadow, the window is lightly covered. Everything is silent, only the candlelight in the leap, the cup of tea has long been cool, dense tea fragrance faint, still hovering in the cup. Thin lips pursed, the slightest bitterness, helplessly swallowed, but in the throat into a sweet stream. Another round of the full moon in the sky, the silver glow of the ground, the cold dew between the leaves crystal clear, you used to be here all night long, to be dew slowly flow through the leaves, will be careful to collect drop by drop, I don't understand, ask, you laugh, the essence of the mid-autumn, ready to make tea.
Drops of confluence, jade beads pendant Fei, momentary slip, broken. The wind dialed the green leaves, dew like beads of rain, have flown over, wet the felt, moistened the green shirt. I can't pick up the dew, just like you can't wipe away the teardrops, not for the moon's surplus and deficit, only for the parting with the Secretary. People have been far away, the fragrance of tea is still; tea has been cool, your love is still; candle before the lone shadow, the idea of the king is still; copper identification no tolerance, frown is still; zither rest sound, floating is still; lifting the case, the silhouette is still.
The heart is like a lilac in the rain, swaying in the cold wind, with a hint of melancholy. Only that faint touch of purple still lingers in the dream. In a flash, the moon has sunk in the west, the candle flame has been exhausted, do not feel dim, powdered face, appear in front of the eyes, lingering, that is the soul of the dream to stay in love.
Between you and me, such as boiling water steep jasmine petals, in the cup floating around, briefly met, if you think about the long term, it is difficult to return.
Remembering the wonderful poem <<Full House Fang>>,: ring pei green clothes, full of dimples, facing the wind unlimited seclusion. And the moon is the most gentle, can love Fanghuai elegant, even if the parting, not willing to articulate sadness. The most important thing to remember is that you have to be able to get the best out of your life, and you have to be able to get the best out of your life.
The long-lost leisurely quiet, always like the West River Autumn Moon, the moon like a hook, hooked up the sadness is difficult to look back, the hanging moon shine east flow.
Replaying the xiao music, the ancient rhyme, the sound of the lingering, echoing long, only to wait, the carriage turned back, the sorrow of the moon hidden west building.
The first snow clear language
Finally complete, because the snow is not expected to come, the charm of the winter only show up.
The night is deep, and the dim streetlights are distantly lit. The fog on the glass makes the sight cloudy, every thing is like frosted, mysterious, phantom. In fact, the night is the need to have a kind of hidden charm.
Fingers mischievous in the fog seem to write non-writing scratch a snow word, transparent notes as hollow as left behind, hazy corner of a rare thoroughness. It is such an inadvertent action, but insight into the night's most precious thing.
Snow, really snow, for the snow has never had the feeling of pity inexplicably, when I couldn't wait to push open the window, it, diffuse sky fluttering, quietly and to ......, and then the mind is also a blank, if you say that at this time the feeling, maybe it is warm. Without any forewarning, they came in pairs, stepping in a brisk pace, just like this, a team after another, spread over the earth, full of vision. When the sky and the earth are one, the mountains have no mountains, the water has no waves, and the white train reflects the river in the sky.
The snow in front of me is not goose feather-like, but much smaller, and they are under the action of the wind, wantonly pouring down. Sometimes to the left, sometimes to the right, their graceful dance, unintentionally outline the track of the cold wind. Perhaps it is to blame me for the disturbance of their dress-up dance, a sudden gust of wind came to my face, when the wind brushed my cheeks, the crystalline snow fluff one after another poured on my face, very gentle, silky cool. Its meeting with me, as if playing tricks on me, when I went to touch them, they disappeared, leaving only a faint trace of water, and then tend to reappear. It's impossible to appreciate, because when you touch it, its soul goes to nirvana, and all that's left is its body. The helpless cold made me subconsciously close the window and reluctantly exit the ball.
It's spinning is so ethereal, the pace is so light, surrounded by silver, like a dancing ballet dancer, a shadow chasing lamp, a scene like a dream of "Swan Lake". Although their dance is very short, every wonderful moment is memorable. They are like shooting stars in the night sky, interpreting what is perfect again and again.
The road of drifting snow, as ten thousand petals of jade stamens tilted, layers and layers, fused into one, so that you can not bear to trample on it, defiled the purity of this. The night of the snow, like a vacuum in a crystal bottle, with love, all silent, so that you hold your breath to find the sound of the snow, just one note can pluck your heartstrings .......
It is very much hoped that the snow continues to drift, because of your aesthetic beauty, your rottenness.
Hopefully consensual