A famous essay expressing emotion by borrowing things: Keep a cloud in your heart and let it fly
. Where did you come from and where are you going?
Stop for a moment, you are carefree,
I'm going to catch up.
Qinghai-Tibet plateau. The sky, a pure blue color, has the breadth of the bluest part of the sea and the clarity of the lightest part of the rainbow, and also borrows the brightest blue pigment from the painter to render the blue sky. And all this is for the beauty of the day and the depth of the night. Beautify the landscape of the plateau to the extreme, and sing mysteriously and high.
In this blue sky, on the top of the mountain, there is a kind of spirit. She is soft, light and willful. It is not too much to describe her with all beautiful, concise and free words. She lives in the blue sky, and in the daytime, under the warmth of the sun, she plays without boundaries, stays, runs away, disappears and is carefree.
at night, accompanied by the moon and stars, you are quiet, relaxed and dormant. She didn't complain that her heart was full of happiness. She knew that the moon, the sun and the stars gave her hope, even if it was a ray of light on a cloudy day and a little moon shadow at night. The clouds could feel it. She was glad to have their company around her. All these were the best arrangements.
Clouds fall in love with mountains, not intentionally.
In spring, clouds drip and moisten the mountains.
In winter, the cloud turns into a layer of snow trail, covering the top of the mountain.
Inadvertently touching, waiting silently from now on,
snuggling up to the top of the mountain, the four seasons will not change, and it will remain unchanged for a hundred years.
Their hug is called Snow Mountain.
snowy plateau. The blue sky is still pure blue, and the clouds paint at will on the dark blue background, which is wonderful, vivid and interesting. Originally, I wanted to outline a wonderful cloud scene, but I didn't expect the random interference of the wind to disturb the cloud. I simply painted the whole blue sky white, leaving no dead ends. The whole sky was white, and everything in my eyes was white. It was the cloud that was at work.
Before I finished, Yun moistened the pen again, drawing two children who took the sun as a ball, one kicking out in Dongshan and the other waiting to meet them in Xishan. Draw a girl, the sun becomes a dazzling mirror, and her head is lowered implicitly, and she can vaguely feel her softness. Draw a Tibetan robe with rainbow as skirt, sunset as collar and the longest cloud belt as sleeve. Is there an impulse to put it on and spread your arms and dance wildly for a while? At night, draw an oolong, and the moon becomes a dragon ball, which escapes from the mouth of the oolong, and the oolong keeps chasing after ups and downs in the night.
It was late at night that Yun put away his pen.
you can see every painting and every beautiful scene. The beauty is there, just waiting to be discovered by heart, even if it is a cloud. Look carefully, Yun may be a woman, and she will fall in love with Shan.
Keep a cloud in your heart and let it fly
Borrow a cloud from the sky with a pure heart.
Keep it in your heart, love her, make her cry, make her angry,
make her angry, drive away the wind,
let her grow slowly in your heart, and don't force her to stay.
Qinghai-Tibet, snowy area, plateau. The sky is clean, close to the sun, mysterious and lofty. People who love to look up at the sky are not disappointed, but have more purity in their hearts, just as they have never been contaminated by secular dust in their hearts.
the four seasons are picturesque, the mountains are winding, the city is in the center, and the clouds are lingering.
in the morning, the clouds and the morning sun dyed the sky a fish-belly white. At noon, clouds and the sun turn the sky into a bright sun. In the evening, the clouds and the setting sun make the western hills look like sunset clouds.
Every day, every season, and every year is a beautiful scene that is not repeated or repeated. Then there is reason to believe that every day is a new beginning, cloud testifies.
The sky is still blue, and the clouds are hanging in the air, quietly, gently and wet. She is in the plateau sky, unpredictable, capricious, casual, changeable and more leisurely.
The blue of the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau is a pure sky with beautiful clouds.
Keep a cloud with a broad mind, as broad as the sky, without complaining, blaming, mocking or polluting her. Let her grow up slowly. Long, long, flying. In the end, she only belongs to the pure sky.
A famous essay expressing emotion by borrowing things: Where there is dust and rain, the wind is clear and the rain is light
I like to walk lightly on the stone path with drizzle in the dusk, and let my thoughts wander, just like the colorful and graceful crape myrtle flowers on the roadside, graceful and euphemistic, whispering and containing in the drizzle.
while walking quietly, I think aimlessly. In the early autumn dusk, the cicada-like mist wafts, like a curtain dreaming, shuttling between the eyebrows of the treetops, misty and rainy, and misty. Suddenly, the breeze rises, and the crape myrtle flowers are colorful, purple, red, white, pink, cluster ... cluster ... cluster ... cluster ... in the autumn whisper.
Stop and gaze, and the charming scenery in front of me suddenly dawned on me-the so-called mundane world may be an ordinary and light world, a degenerate world of mediocrity and inaction, or a chaotic world of intrigue and intrigue ... If you are honest and open-minded, then the mundane world will be honest and open-minded; You are simple and kind, then all the dust is simple and kind; You are elegant and indifferent, then all the dust is elegant and indifferent; If you are narrow and cunning, then all the dust is narrow and cunning; If you are complex and dangerous, then every dust is complex and dangerous; If you are dirty and violent, then all the dust is dirty and violent ......
It is said that the elegance and filth of all the dust are in our own hearts, and we can't escape from all the dust and we can't live without it. Everyone wants to seek a paradise like a fairy living, but there is no such paradise without any disputes.
If there is a paradise in the world, I can only say that it is in our own hearts. Look at the misty rain floating in the clean dust; Look at the clouds flying in the clean dust; Look at the flowers blooming in the clean dust; Watch the bees busy in the clean dust; Watch the birds singing in the clean dust; Look at the lush grass in the clean dust ... Do you feel it? Every dust is like a pool that washes away everyone's heart and makes our heart feel safe and quiet for an instant; Another example is a curved autumn moon flowing through the beach in our hearts between the awnings, which makes our hearts clear.
every dust needs the feeling of the mind, and the mind also needs the spread of every dust. The purity of the soul can reveal the beauty of every dust, and the waves of every dust can highlight the indifference of the soul, slow down the pace of life, slow down the pace of rushing forward, and calm down the arrogant mood. In a clean and elegant morning, or in a quiet and deep evening, quietly close your eyes, take a deep breath and slowly set aside, and you will find that every dust is like a cup of boiled water, savor it carefully.
The dusty smoke, the dusty rain, the dusty flowers, the dusty grass and the dusty moon have run over thousands of valleys, only to baptize our heart beach for a slight rain. How gentle and moist people should be, how elegant and indifferent they should be, and the dusty people must be a Ming Che, quiet and good.
A famous essay expressing emotion by borrowing things: Time has passed, and I am no longer me
I can't remember when I started. When I told my story to others, it was like telling an irrelevant person. Time took away too many lush years, leaving only a thin figure to indulge in the night.
Perhaps, when the years pass a certain point, it will give us a smoke-like ending. We have no time to pick up the original story, so we are vaguely immersed in the edge of the dream. All the nostalgia has become the only theme, and people who are in a hurry have witnessed the traces of one cycle after another.
I often think of the past, such as the village I walked through, the overpass I passed, the kite I flew, and the seeds I planted in my childhood ... but they are old after all, and they shed tears when they turn around. No matter how hard we try, there are very few things that can be grasped in our hands. Except for those bits and pieces of the past and memories, we can't find any other pictures to remember.
Now that many years have passed, the years can't keep the footsteps of the past. Just like I am now, I am sitting at a simple computer desk with a screen that can look at the world in front of me, but my heart is extremely trance-like, and I can't find my way in a trance, so I am confused.
Perhaps, those boundless memories, as time flies, are hidden in the lonely ocean, destined to be dependent on loneliness and dance with loneliness. But this is a vivid life, why is it so helpless, how many secular desolations spread, exiled in the boundless, aging the soul?
We also know that time is changing and people are changing. Some things, no matter how hard we try, can't go back. After years of wasted time, the mature heart gradually tends to be indifferent, but that loneliness and loss is unimaginable.
I've always liked this sentence: "The left bank is a memory I can't forget, the right bank is a glorious time I deserve to hold on to, and what flows fast in the middle is my faint sadness every year." A person wandering in the winter night, the cold wind blowing, although a little chilly, but it seems to make me awake a lot.
Just like in life, many wonderful things are often missed by us, and these mistakes often turn into a sharp knife, gouging out blood in the heart one by one. Therefore, some people say that there are some regrets hidden in all the good things in the world, and loss is the deepest regret, and how much sorrow is a pity.
The fleeting picture shows many feelings that are hard to give up. Time has given us a colorful meeting, but after years, we have left a light wind and light clouds. For me, in such a night, staring at myself in the past and the future, I suddenly found that such a night is also so beautiful, interpreting the inner strength.
once again, from a distance, the story layer of time is all dyed, and the hazy fragrance is lifted, and the memory is red, and it is kneaded into snowflakes flying all over the sky, falling on the youth desk one by one, so soft.
the more shallow the ink, the more delicate it feels. Time has passed, and the old dream of smoke and dust is nowhere to be found. I still remember that I was no longer what I was. Is it true that I am no longer me?
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