When I woke up accidentally, I found that a window of sunshine was splashing on the tip of a cluster of green bamboo leaves, gently and shallow, swaying with the wind. Soft. Bright. Occasionally a few birds’ singing, through the cracks of sunshine, through the branches and leaves, slightly rippling the happy ripples, brushed the green notes on the strings of my heart. The rotating fan keeps pouring the coolness. Adults and children snore evenly with each other’s ups and downs, making the noon time so quiet and tranquil. Like a shy lotus flower, it keeps silent and unfettered under its feet. The pulse is clear. I enjoyed the simple and peaceful sunshine alone. Put your heart aside by the bamboo fence. Let it bloom light flowers and grow light grass. Away from the noise of the city, quietly savoring the time of Qingfen in the countryside, sending out the fragrance. Rattan bamboo chair, breeze and sunshine, puppy lying at the door, green-eyed kitten and old cow lying in the shade. They fled with me and followed satona, betraying the vulgar and troublesome world. I tried to take a lunch break to recuperate the desolation and busy green in my heart. A wooden Plaid window, beside the low wall, beside a bag of dry smoke in Ta ba ba, beside fruits and vegetables covered with rice loaf and soil fragrance, in a dark green light yellow, they spread the wings of life in groups. I saw the broadness and safety of life, and I was crossing the noise and prosperity of the society wisely, giving me a clear wind direction. Yes. Life should be like this, which belongs to my peaceful and charming state. No noise, no dispute, no noise. Write a few lines of words, read a few pages of books, drink a few mouthfuls of tea, and answer a few words with your mother. My afternoon light and shadow are filled with the shade of flowers. After writing down, the mind slipped to the wall of life without paying attention. It was still the sunshine in the window, the green, or the fragrance of flowers that made me see the dim Willow and bright flowers at a corner with winding paths. Good afternoon! Yourself! Good afternoon, my friends who love each other! 2014.7.,20. Hurry in the afternoon

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Night, quiet; Wind, cold, cold night swept away the noise of the day, only loneliness, only me. With the yearning of the whole season, the cold wind climbed up the treetop gently sometimes, ran wild sometimes, hung disappointment on the branches sometimes, and poured sorrow on the wilderness sometimes. Thick and light, deep and shallow, it drains into the wall shadow of time, and fades into the waves of time far away. However, when you carefully feel the pain from the stars and the faint wounds, you will feel a lot of thoughts from the bottom of your heart, wandering in, find. I am used to thinking in the wind, and my heart flies with the dead leaves, full of bitterness and mottled on the ground. The lifted memory flows in the bleak Cold, rolling up as injury, stretching as pain and permeating the wind and dust; A bay of thoughts spread quietly, stretching along the green vines of memory and blooming. Pavilion Day cool cloud light, trail path wind rustling. The wind spreads emotions, rolling up pieces of ancient style, whispering in the corridor of the eaves corner, dancing alone in the small pavilion of the Wall Hall, throbbing the common feeling for a lifetime; The cloud smiles, dripping half a pool of clear frost, drunk lying in the dead leaves, the damaged dead branches were red, and the pond was full of cold smoke. In the dim light, memory always draws your outline without reservation, smiles, turns around, wanders ink and backs. Those moments, though a moment of warmth, are eternal love. A cold night moon, what time is it. In the old days, the pavilions and pavilions were full of worries and endless thoughts of tobacco. A heart, a thousand sorrows, love; Half a cup of wine, a drunk, ask for love. I know that I can’t hold your hands smartly, nor can I delete you from the memory panel by taking advantage of the thin edge of this life to describe the previous edge of the next world. That green loneliness gathers in my heart, with ten fingers of cohesion, the Golden string ends the year of Sihua, and the Yao piano sounds are disconsolate. Can a single finger of the clear tone hold the yearning? Thoughts always drift unconsciously. When walking through the old and new wounds, the unconscious touch will always shock the most sensitive wounds. The past dribs and drabs will always come for no reason. The scenes will be staged one by one, and the sentimental feelings will always come together quietly one by one. The past days and nights have been sealed up by the years and become the classic of the heart; The love that has been precipitated, it seems that the sea tide is coming every night, dancing with Willow, and bending with the moon, pressing down to the end of Su Yan’s pen, pouring a piece of cold, ruthless is not like sentimental bitter, an inch is still thousands of strands. Standing quietly in front of the wind, the sound of bamboo flute fluttered beside my ears. I was drunk with the moon, my face was full of beauty, my broken stars were charming, my eyebrows were flashing and my mind was on my mind, telling me about the hunting breeze and the poetic years, follow a natural and Frank love, restore the most admiring time, and put the most perfect you in the most beautiful space. I know that in your world, I can only be a clear dream. I didn’t leave for a long time because I didn’t want to see the ending of flowers falling so early. Shan pillow half bed, dream back to the old dynasty when the moon is bright; Jade flute flies, flowers fall in the end of the world. At this time, although it was only a half-volume dream, I knew very well that there would still be you as before in the corridor of the elegant environment of Qing Ci. Pond grass enters poetry because of dreams, begonia with hatred is no fragrance, you are not pond grass, but into my poetry; I am not begonia, but curling your half-life love wounds. Love, escaped the wind and frost of four seasons, but could not hide the looking back of years. Keeping half a window Moon, Mei Ying gradually went up to the screen window, as if your outline was shallow, your eyes were hazy, and you stretched out your palm, but you didn’t want to touch the wound from the dust for a long time. Looking for winter, I have been singing ice and cold, but there are still withered vines around the branches; Waiting for you, we can know that the infatuated are better than the epilepsy, Nai, Qing bottle jade flute. The wind, relieving emotions, always accompanied me tirelessly, coming fiercely, blowing up the calm of forehead and the persistence of feet; Clearing up the complicated thoughts hastily, walking through the wind, I don’t want to be filled with worries and hit the loneliness in the wind. The broken dreams flow with the wind. Maybe in destiny, you are the flowing dust that I can’t catch in my whole life. I always look at you, but it’s hard to keep two or two; Rouge tears, stay drunk, when heavy, since people grow up, they hate the water and the East, and only sigh that creation makes people. The wind blows the old years, making it easier for Zhu Yan in the mirror; Lovesickness is engraved in the dust, causing some dust. Sake, sorrow, drunk, sad; Cold wind, heart, acid, tears. There is no trace in the night, and after pouring over loneliness, it will draw a deep and dark wound; Fengben is dust-free, running over the oath and engrave the love in the world of mortals. Looking back and looking shallow, the flowers are all gone, but only the desolation breaks the cocoon and becomes a butterfly, making a curve of yearning. There is no dust in the heart of water, not for poetry but for heart, and thousands of lovesickness words can be relied on.

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