?
? The wind is light, the grass is green, the swallows are flying back, spring is here!
?
? Spring is colorful, the sun is red, the sky is blue, the treetops are tender green, spring flowers are delicate yellow ...... No wonder poets love to sing about spring, painters love to depict spring, because spring is the fusion of all the world's beauty, all the colors of the General Assembly. I am very strange, this colorful color why will coincidentally choose spring to the earth? ? Spring rain is continuous, soft, it moisturizes the earth, caressing the earth, whispering the earth, in people do not know when they quietly converge into a small river, accumulated into a deep pool. Ah, the original is the spring rain to bring green life to the pool. The rain is a great way to bring green life to the water in the pool. Wind and rain always come together. Early spring, with a bit of cold wind, blowing everything awake, the treetops green, the earth is green, even the platform of the towering buildings are also green. Wang Anshi of the Song Dynasty wrote a poem: "The spring breeze greens the south bank of the river again." What a nice way to put it! But what is more than "green"? In the wind blowing, full of hills and slopes of wildflowers opened their eyes, one, two, a clump, two clumps ...... even into a piece, converge into a sea. People face this blue, red, yellow ...... imposing sea of color, worry no more, atrophy no more. Thanks to the colors of spring to bring us upward strength and confidence. Look at the spring sky again. How the sky is also colorful, dazzling? Ah, that's the kites flown by the children. Under the blue sky and white clouds, thousands of kites flutter and fly freely, what a refreshing sight! Spring belongs to the children, the sky belongs to the children, yet aren't they at the same time trying to dress up and add color to spring? However, if you bend down to scrutinize, you will find that in the pleasing colors, there are still sporadic yellowing, that is the traces left by the remnants of winter. You may sigh, "What a beauty!" Yes, looking at the several stems of broken limbs and arms, drooping grass, who will still have a good mood? However, you may want to peel off the yellow winter coat, you will have a new and strange discovery, hey! Inside is green! It turns out that the yellowish appearance of the grass is also pregnant, pregnant with a more beautiful spring. I finally understand why the colors of spring are so rich: it is the color pencils in the hands of the spring girl waving diligently; it is the childish children innocently dressed; it is the neglected grass silently nurturing. Enjoy the spring colors of the pleasant people ah, you contribute to the colors of spring?
Sunset beauty Sunset, the earth bathed in the afterglow of the color, people strolling in the street in twos and threes, the evening breeze sent a burst of flowers and trees mixed with the fragrance, so that people are relaxed and happy, and feel the setting sun is infinitely good. A touch of red sunset in the western mountains, blue blue sky floating with large white clouds, they are reflected in the setting sun presents a flame-like red, if you look carefully, you will see that the cloud flakes in the air, like being in a gauze-like dream, will keep you away from the troubles of the troubled. The fish return to the pond, the smoke of the cooker calls the son, the traveler travels. The gentle sound of the setting sun kissing the ground divides the day from the night. Then cast the forest of tired birds, also will be like the poet burned manuscripts, carrying the sunset of the Yin blood flame to go ...... A refreshing night wind came, as if all the troubles and fatigue are put aside, the body of every nervous tension is also gradually relaxed; the wind blowing wrinkled river surface, the ripples, refracted with the crimson haze, like a river of red onyx. Shed a river of red onyx, glittering; far away from the small bamboo forest flashing green light, in the breeze gently shake the bamboo leaves, the wind blowing the leaves that soughing sound, like singing a beautiful song; the wind in the air, wantonly chasing, teasing, tearing the clouds. And then look down, a small river - Xiao Beijiang, bamboo tones and the reddish hue of the evening sun, so that the Xiao Beijiang and added a quiet atmosphere, while the bamboo that graceful silhouette and the evening sun that magnificent like brocade light, but also make the Xiao Beijiang in people's minds doubly intimate; a few small fishing boats sailed back to the surface of the river opened up a shimmering ripples. Birds sometimes fly through the mid-air, sometimes you can hear the magpies that clear and pleasant chirping, this time, I just woke up from the dusk of the dream. The sun is setting, the burning sunset is also gradually dimming down. In the blink of an eye, the western sky of the last evening sun has melted into the dark twilight, the sky is gradually darkened, the surrounding mountains, showing the outline of the blue and white, twilight gradually thick, the earth a chaotic confusion. This is like the end of a symphony, beautiful, but gradually return to the silence, silent, causing people's hearts endless sighs of relief, to the campus of the twilight paved with a layer of heartfelt poetry: "desert smoke straight, the Yangtze River sunset round" is its unparalleled majesty; "a remnant of the sun spread in the water, half a river red, half a river red, half a river red, half a river red, half a river red, half a river red. Half a river is half a river red" is its mature charm; "human heavy evening love" more set off its serenity ...... Gradually, gradually, the night fell, my mind is still floating that intoxicating dusk, that beautiful and fascinating scene deep in my heart. The beautiful and mesmerizing scene y attracted me: my sight, my spirit, my thoughts ...... are all indescribably beautiful "twilight picture" immersed, I fell into this inexplicable feeling, can not extricate themselves. I with a reluctant mood, with heavy footsteps, quietly left the twilight of the border ...... Scenic composition: the autumn wind blew into the campus, the distant balsam camphor tree was blown by the autumn wind shaking the west. Slightly yellowed leaves struggled to death in the autumn wind ...... issued a final roar, but it still can not be spared from that miserable fate, and ultimately still blown down by the relentless autumn wind ...... Perhaps the leaves fall like a sad poem, but how can it be It's not a kind of beauty, is it? Shelley said, "Winter is coming, can spring be far away?" I say, "When the yellow leaf falls, the green leaf will wake up!" Its death breeds the sprout of life. This is not death, this is selflessness. Look, there are a few roses standing proudly in the flowerbed, red. Pink, opened brightly colored. In the autumn wind, it can not help but shrink a little, but it is using its own body and the sluggish autumn wind against. An autumn wind blew, it looks a little shaky, but it held on, it won, it overcame the cold autumn, gorgeous open. The late fall wind plants the seeds of depression and desolation into people's hearts. I don't know when, the tree in the back garden, which is usually full of leaves, didn't escape the clutches of the autumn wind, and the red leaves have been blown by the gusty winds to the extent that there are not many left. The moonlight shadow enchantingly shot through the piece in the wind struggling to snuggle together with the mutilated red leaves, leaving a little bit of a little bit of mottled, moonlight kissed traces of ...... more to you a few ，，，，， everyone vote for me Oh Snow Soul The sunshine in the full throw bright light, in the snowy early clearing of the wilderness, is echoing the The unique tranquility and serenity of the plateau. The purity of the blue sky stretches out a mysterious smile and vastness. Without the ups and downs of the confrontation, the lack of life on the green stay. Guangyuan after the snow, is comfortably winding up the Yellow River thousands of miles of magnificent, majestic and moving melody. Snow is nature's thousands of colors to change after the fullest, to a higher level of purity of the original appearance. The snow scene always shows us a blank and flawless look back. When the green wilderness presents endless competition, relieve all the restlessness and clamor of winter, will open up this infinite curtain in time, all of a sudden the return of nature will be in the gentle drift will rest in the lullaby chanting finished. I want to think of the earth after the Tongyun densely covered by the boundless snow, thousands of life lost active, lost the self-expansion and arrogance. In raising the white melody of the universe, the world of snow and ice that reverberates between heaven and earth will show us her vastness to the fullest. People in this selfless and unhelpful world in the void, only respectfully in the flying in the diffusion, feel God to give us a unique human favor. In the vastness of heaven and earth, all the mountains disappear in the snow mist. You can only hear the sound of goose feather shaped snowflakes colliding with each other and crowding the snow to cover the earth. Only the silence of too long after the wilderness, in the snow fall in the sky echoed the pale, vast sadness of the air. However, in the precipitation of the white endless western land, a silver, crystalline giant band winding, magnificent across the white earth. This western cold land, stretching up the vitality of the cold land. This is the mother river of our Chinese nation - the Yellow River. Look at the Yellow River in other seasons, just full of vicissitudes of the yellow land, there is the Yellow River's eternal unceasing footsteps in the heavy to the east. Where the water passes, the disappointment of the barren land has unlimited vitality and hope. Especially when walking alone in the reckless plains with no one to look around, the ever-approaching sky is always telling you the sadness and sighs of history. Now on the snowy vast land, the huge white in covering all the strife and confrontation, heaven and earth's great loneliness, a kind of bear the heavens after the stern warning of helplessness, fear of the mood, is slowly shrouded in the body. However, the Yellow River fearlessly draws beautiful and vivid curves on the clean earth. --The Yellow River in the snow is composing a generous rushing song for us. If the snowy wilderness is without the flow of the Yellow River, the loneliness will make us lack strong confidence in the severe cold. Then the long winter will dry up the yellow land forever. If the snow falls on the land pale, hopeful eyes will have nowhere to stay lingering thoughts. Snowy winter will accumulate too much flotsam left to the voice of the Yellow River, they are only silver, a waiting for tomorrow's fruitful nature of the light. The majesty of the Yellow River only in the western winter to see her strong after the heavy, fearless vicissitudes of the original appearance. It is the Yellow River's shining and pioneering temperament, for the long winter roundabout another beautiful, open face. The western snow in the harsh landing too much desolation, only the flow of the Yellow River, will be the disappointment of the indignation of the landscape to add the element of endless life, more than the struggle. The Yellow River is the mother of the west, but in the snow-covered white, in the lonely and helpless struggle, the Yellow River and deservedly become the snow, the snowy plains of the real soul. No snow we wrestle the Yellow River, feel thousands of years of Chinese civilization of the majestic and broad. When there is snow, we write songs of praise for the Yellow River, the soul of snow and ice. When the white earth after snow presents too much solitude and loneliness, the Yellow River will stretch the main theme of life. Will be the history of the heavy western style, let the snow melt in the surging yellow water, after the eastward flow, into the driving force of history, into the blood of the Chinese children, for the Chinese nation tomorrow's re-emergence, glowing with infinite vitality The snow of the daydream The Siberian winds to send a small rain blossoming season in the winter in the north of the country, I tramped on the surface of the snow, gray days, skimming the sadness of space, and then to the season of the last Today, the small town finally waited for the long-awaited snowfall. Butterfly-like snowflakes flutter gently, bringing the season's unique scenery. She came with light steps, she came with a soothing rhythm, and she came with a plain veil. The winter spirit, to our world to dress up to come. Winter without snow can still be called winter? Wherever her skirt goes, the snowy plains are as quiet as a child, the snowy peaks are cold and upright, the jade trees blossom, and the air is particularly gentle. In her gentle soothing, all the restlessness are beginning to quiet down, the earth is quiet and peaceful, like a sleeping baby in the arms of his mother. In this silver world, this dazzling white so that the sky also eclipsed. In this quiet white, we can still have what fidgety heart can not put it? When our restless heart calm down, we can feel the falling snow is so colorful. What kind of flower in the world can be as atmospheric as snowflakes? And what kind of flower can be as dashing as a snowflake? "Suddenly like a spring breeze, thousands of trees and thousands of pear blossoms" - this is the splendor of the snow; "the northern country scenery, thousands of miles of ice, ten thousand miles of snow, look at the Great Wall inside and outside, but the remaining mang, the river up and down, lost the torrent! "- this is the spectacular snow;" "Window containing the West Ridge thousands of autumn snow, the door parked in the East Wu ten thousand miles of ship" - this is the snow of the beautiful; "wind and rain to send the spring return, snow to welcome the spring to the cliffs of a hundred feet of ice, but still The flower branch is pretty" - this is the snow of romance; "thousands of birds fly away from the mountains, ten thousand paths of the people trail extinction" - this is the snow of solitude and seclusion. In fact, the most favorite, or "green ants, new spirits wine, red clay small stove; the evening sky want to snow, can drink a cup of no" such a mood. Two old friends, in the twilight, cloudy cottage, sitting around the red fireplace, so concerned about the whispering inquiry, how full of warmth ah. But in today's society, although there is a lot of wine, the small fireplace is rare, the soulmate is even more difficult to find, to enjoy such a mood, I am afraid it is very difficult. Alone to the countryside, in the vast snowy plains, reduce yourself to a small black spot in the vastness of the world, quietly parked here. If this snowy plain is regarded as a world, then we are the countless snowflakes scattered by God. We are sent to this world by the winds of fate like the falling snow, and when we look back on the way we came, there is no trace to patrol. We lie where we fell, waiting for the winds of fate to send us to another place, or waiting for another snowflake to come, and then quietly melt into nothing. Just as there are no two snowflakes that are exactly the same, there are no two people in the world that are exactly the same. So where is the other snowflake with whom we know and share our hearts? Looking around blankly, colder than the early winter weather is loneliness, which forces its way from all around and chills my heart marrow. In this cold silence, a warm voice gradually rose from the bottom of the heart: you snow there? Are you afraid of the face of the cold you are not afraid of the fire to warm your hands can have a smile to fill your home are you afraid of the face of loneliness you are not afraid of the face of the snow you do not want to listen to me to say a word sweet words do not want to leave a piece of snowflake I left a piece of snowflake in the snow to find plums has become my dream of a fairy tale petals fluttered and sprinkled with my hair to pick a piece to leave my eternal attachment the most I think this is the best song in the world, it contains a lot of strong feelings ah, the love of the love of thought, attachment, worry, hope, all in it. Along with the song, there is also a feeling of disappointment. In this life, can I find another snowflake? Can I still hold hands with each other and sing this song to her? And who will be able to accompany me to the end of the world on the coldest day? Looking at the snowflakes fluttering like butterflies, an infinite sadness suddenly welled up in my heart. Like a butterfly breaking cocoon, a drop of water to go through how painful pain to condense and crack into a beautiful snowflake? How many painful trials and tribulations does life have to go through in order to be more practiced and brilliant? Looking forward to a snow I don't like winter, because I hate the cold of winter, hate the heavy of winter; I don't like winter, because I hate the gray sky, hate the sleepy earth; I don't like winter, because I hate the tightly closed doors and windows, hate the heavy clothes; but there is one thing, I must admit, that is, I like the snow. Some people say that snow is the purest in the world, because it is so white and flawless; some people say that snow is the dirtiest in the world, because it is so full of impurities. I do not want to analyze who is right and who is wrong, because I like snow, whether it is pure or dirty. I often wonder what kind of Creator it is that creates such beautiful and lovely snowflakes. He must be a naughty angel, I think, or maybe she is a beautiful fairy. I often guess that whenever someone makes a wish, God makes a snowflake. When people's wishes come true, God releases these snowflakes. That's why the snowflake flies all the time, from the sky to the ground. It flies because it is the bearer of wishes; it flies because it is the fulfillment of wishes. Standing in front of the window, I make a wish. Then I will wait quietly for the snow that belongs to me. Expecting a snow, I think, soon, God will make the biggest and most beautiful snow for me. Expecting a snow, I wish, I wait. The rain always falls in the green-colored south, in Gusu Hanshan Temple, Xidi Village in Huizhou, in the shadow of the Qinhuai River and the soft waves of the Fuchun River, wetting the bamboo leaves, rice leaves, lotus leaves, willow leaves, fish scale tiles, oil-paper umbrellas, bird-topped boats, green stone bridges, Hengshan, Lushan, Mount Huangshan, Mount Emei, Mount Yandang, Lake Taihu, Lake Hongze, Dongting Lake, Lake Poyang, and the Broken Bridge of the White Maiden, the sculpted railings of Li Yu, the peach blossom of Tang Bohu, the blue shirt of Wen Tingyun. This is the rain when the plum is yellow． Cold rain even the river night into the Wu, Bashan night rain rises in the autumn pool - this is the rain of the south ah, in the apricot blossom village in March in Jiangnan a straw raincoat strewn in the rain ...... that sweet and gentle Huangmei tune reminds people of the southern hometown of the smoke and pastoral and bamboo bamboo and horse, as well as that clear sweet sweet yellow plums Huangmei Rain Huangmei Opera. Snow World Li Hanrong A night of snow re-creates all things in heaven and earth. The world became a white palace. The crows are white, the dogs are white, and the black coal is white. Graves also become white, that rises a bunch of no longer let a person feel desolate, but seems to be beautiful and meaningful, that quiet arc, that slightly up posture, let a person feel the land has a kind of desire to stand up at any time, continue to descend and thickening of the snow, so that it looks like a far from a coiled lying down like a bird, it is grooming and growth of their own white wings, it is always ready to fly in a certain mysterious direction. The snow falls on the ground, on the stones, on the branches of the trees, on the roofs, the snow falls on everything that is expected of it. Snow is tending to the dry earth and our dry lives. Snow falls all over our vision. Finally, the snow falls on the snow, the snow is still falling, the snow is touched and intoxicated by its own whiteness, the snow falls in its own arms, the snow lies asleep in its own arms. Walking in the snow, we no longer speak, the snow is the language of the sky, passing on the language of the distant past. The snow in the sky is also the snow on the ground, there is no boundary between the sky and the ground anymore, we are the people on the ground and the gods in the sky. The snow of the Tang Dynasty has not melted so far and will never melt, the thickest snow is preserved in poetry. The snow that fell on my hand melted, which reminds me of the love that has passed through the generations. I really want to go to the clouds to see how this hexagonal flower is urged to bloom by the bitter cold. What was her demeanor at the moment of blooming? Was her fall vertical or inclined? Coming down from such a steep and high sky, was she dizzy, was she afraid? From water to mist, from mist to flower, this dying process, this touching miracle! Soft and great is the spirit that walks the long road of heaven, and comes again to the rolling earth. This one and the other and the many that fall on my eyelashes, were you my tears in your former lives? You found my eyes, you wanted to return to my eyes. You melted and became my tears, still my tears. Nothing ever dies but birth. The sea of Jingwei still brews salt for us, the cup is still Li Bai's wine Li Bai's moon. The river pushes the ancient stones as it always has, and on any of them one can find the same handprints as ours, and the same well that collected your figure last year or long ago, collects mine again. Lifting my head, every snow is airborne with your message to me, that nameless, faceless snowman you molded in the distant wilderness is the very same me in the afterlife ...... I don't dare to look at the snow anymore, all I look at is the pure souls of the homeless. I closed my eyes and sat on the snow, quietly listening to the snow , quietly listening to myself, the snow drifted down around me, the snow lifted me up, and I became snow, and there was nothing else but snow, and the universe became a white snow ........ The only day when God is not needed is a day when it snows. Heaven and earth are a white church, white consecrates white, white salutes white. There can be no need for a savior; white liberates all sinking colors. Nor is there need of a revelator; white has revealed and answered everything, and the language of white recounts the most solemn touches of the heart. The highest mountain tops all hold bright candles, and I can faintly see that there are higher mountain tops in the distance, higher mountain tops that are still snowy, still great snowy peaks that we can't climb enough. I see more signs of God on days when there is no God. All the faraway places that the spiritual eye sees are the faraway places of divinity, which wait for us to arrive, and when we do, we truly discover ourselves, and so we set out once more. The only day that doesn't need love is the day it snows. There are so many white saris drifting towards you that you don't know which blessing to treasure that one coming through the air. So ethereal gestures, so soft words, so innocent promises. The love that flies in spite of the sky and the distance reminds me of those daughters made of water throughout the ages, all for the sake of love, coming from the underworld and returning to the underworld. They came and transformed the low thatched cottage into a simple paradise, and the cold windy canyon was filled with tenderness and turned into a peaceful corridor. They are gone, they run the seas, calling our names and the names of our villages in the waves, they roam the clouds, watching over our lives from high in the sky, they are our atmosphere, rain and snow. The only days when I don't need to write a poem are the days when it snows. All that floats in the air and spreads on the ground is pure poetry. The pen of the tree is held up in silence; it wants to write a poem, but it is so moved by it that it doesn't know what a poem is. So quietly stood in the snow, stood in the poem, as if to say: the pen is superfluous, in front of the pure poetry of the universe, there is no poet, only the person who reads the poem; there is no person who reads the poem, only the poem; in fact, there is no poem, only the snow, only the infinite serenity, infinite innocence ...........