The blue sky in July hangs like a fireball, and the clouds seem to be melted by the sun and disappear without a trace.
Spring goes with the falling flowers, and summer comes with green leaves in the warm wind.
The early summer sun shone through the dense branches and leaves, and the ground was covered with shiny spots the size of copper coins.
The wind blows with a slight warmth, and the cuckoo calls from time to time, telling us that "spring has passed."
Grass, reeds and red, white and purple wildflowers are steamed by the fiery red sun hanging high in the air, and the air is filled with sweet and intoxicated breath.
In midsummer July, there is not a cloud in the blue sky. The sun scorched the earth, the water in the river was hot, and the soil in the field smoked.
Under the scorching sun, on both sides of the road, ripe grains bent down and lowered their heads. Grasshoppers are as numerous as grass leaves, and then make a weak and noisy sound in wheat fields and rye fields, in wheat fields and rye fields, and among the reeds on the shore.
The sun is like a fireball, the light is burning, the road surface is scorched by the scorching sun, and a pile of white smoke is stepping down.
The weather is sultry and there is no wind at all. The thick air seems to have solidified.
The whole city is like a burnt-out brick kiln, which makes people breathless. Dogs lie prone on the ground with bright red tongues, and mules and horses have particularly large nostrils.
Flaming parachutes are hanging high in the air, so hot that fish in the river dare not surface and birds dare not fly out of the mountains. Even the dogs in the village just stick out their tongues and gasp endlessly.
That day, it was terribly hot. As soon as the sun came out, the ground was already on fire, and some gray gases, like clouds, like Feiyun, like fog, like fog, floated low in the air, making people feel breathless.
It was a long, rainy summer. The old loach in the field was turned white by the scorching sun. The stream near the village dropped several inches, and the stones above the water suddenly became bigger.
I don't know where the bird went; The vegetation is dejected and despondent, as if dying; Only cicadas keep chirping in the branches; It's really breaking gongs and drums to cheer for the scorching sun!
The willow in the street is sick, and the leaves are hanging with dust and rolling on the branches, and the branches are motionless. The street was white, vendors were afraid to sell, and the plexiglass signboard at the door of the store seemed to be sunburned.
Summer is a concerto. It is strong and weak, fast and slow. Listen, you will be fascinated by it!
In the early morning, some unknown bugs are cooing, just like the opening remarks of a piano soloist.
At 9 o'clock and 10, the insects began to sing in unison, slugs were singing, cicadas were chirping, and many other unknown insects were echoing, making various harmonies.
At noon, the weather suddenly became less sunny and it began to rain cats and dogs. The sound of rain is like an ensemble of cello and clarinet, accompanied by the sound of "ding-"from time to time.
In the evening, the breeze is blowing gently, and the rain seems to be getting smaller. The violinist of the Insect Band began to play lyric songs. The rustling of light rain on the leaves is a hammer, swinging rhythmically.
When I woke up, I felt that the rain had stopped, and the frog presented the end of this concerto, which was melodious and melodious, making everyone fascinated and memorable.
Ah! How wonderful this "Song of Summer" played by nature is!
The above paragraphs are all taken from Baidu netizens, thank you.