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It's the most autumn dream.

An autumn rain and a cold. After a few showers of autumn rain, the smell of autumn is very strong.

I have always liked autumn, and I always feel that there is no season that can be so close to emotions, tacit and appropriate.

Choose an autumn countryside and follow a long and winding path up the stairs, one step at a time.

The faint fragrance of cinnamon shines through the sunlight and greets you. Perhaps, it won't be long before the frost leaves of the trees will turn red and shy, swaggering in the wind in layers. Under the tree, there are occasional faint purple flowers snickering ...... their facesThe eyes are filled with colors that I can't finish reading too much, and this kind of autumn is joyful.

However, behind the gorgeousness, we can capture the gloom and coldness of "the gradual frost and the wind is tight, the Guanhe River is cold, and the afterglow is the building", although it is silent.

It was supposed to be the end of an ancient city wall, ruined and overgrown. There should also be a low and vigorous Xun voice like a shadow, if there is nothing. But I always feel that the double sadness of autumn and twilight is too vicissitudes for me to bear.

I still like the faint sadness in the humid air. The autumn sound of trees and trees, the cold color of the mountains and mountains, makes people feel a little emotional: is there an autumn sound that can be annotated with whom, and is there a kind of mountain color that can be confirmed with whom?

More often than not, I like to stroll through the shade of the town on a sunny evening. Let the wind quietly comb the wisps of the raised, clearly distinguish the sweetness and sadness, and mix the dignified figure, under the depiction of the sunset, and the autumn thoughts are as euphemistic. A fallen leaf, whirling for the final performance, drifting into the distance and finally returning to peace.

Under the distant sky, are there also fallen leaves dancing with butterflies? Could there be anyone else who has similar feelings at the same time?

At such a time, it is best to dream of missing old friends.

A bird, in a graceful arc through the empty twilight, disappeared into view, and there were unfamiliar poems that were half familiar to the upper lip. Actually, I don't know much poetry, it's just independent of the dusk, and I just find a nihilistic branch for the myriad of thoughts.

Moonlight Night, just darkened, the thick fog spread layer by layer, smoked a calm and peaceful night, the white fog was dyed golden under the light of the soft moonlight and street lamps. Under the moonlight, the leaves "flutter", as if playing a "moonlight song", graceful and poignant, deep and beautiful, the beating notes seem to jump out of the hazy moonlight, intoxicating.

In the depths of the night, the countryside is hazy, the mountain shadows are longing, the water and light are dissolved, the fireflies are lit, the candles are lit, and the picture scroll under the moon is good!

Life is so much like "Moonlight Song" and picture scrolls! The beating melody interprets the joys and sorrows of life. Life is short, why is it not like "Moonlight Song"?

The moon is in the sky, bright and gentle, the soft moonlight sets off a calm and peaceful night, the light of the moon falls on the trees, falling mottled black shadows, scattered like broken strips hanging on the trees.

Everything in the world is the creation of God, and they are all harmonious, but the moon is different, the moon has its own character, there are clouds and sunny days, and the charm of the moon is reflected here. Why should the moon compete for glory? Her purpose is to make the night no longer terrible, and to send people a piece of warmth and light!

Isn't it true of people? Aren't some people like the moon giving to others in obscurity? Although it is just a trivial matter, each other will feel a little warmth, which is the connotation of the month.

The night is silent. The moon quietly casts its afterglow, trying its best to drive away the darkness and bring light, warmth and love to people!

Feelings: This article praises those who give to others in obscurity by describing moonlight; Combined with the famous song "Moonlight Song", it uses beautiful and smooth writing to write the appearance of the moonlight vividly.

I threw the gardenia in my hand, and the sky of the city was suddenly filled with white gardenias, and the petals of the white gardenia were like dreams.

Sunlight. It smells so good! Everyone looked up, they were looking for the light that was very fragrant!

"Spring Nostalgia" My favorite.

Spring must have been like this: from the green and restrained hills, a handful of snow can no longer hold it, a puff, a cold face will be smiled into a flower, a song will be sung from the clouds to the foothills, from the foothills to the low deserted villages, sung into the hedgerow, sung into the yellow webs of a duckling, sung into the soft and dissolved spring mud - as soft as a freshly turned quilt.

So delicate, so sensitive, but so endless. A thunder can provoke the clouds that cry all over the sky for no reason, a burst of cuckoo crying, can fight a city of azaleas, a gust of wind rises, and every willow sings out a white and vast, empty fluttering and unspeakable, uninvited flying, every trace of flying, is a semicolon of a willow. Anyway, spring is so unreasonable and illogical, and it can still be too good to be peaceful.

Spring must have been like this: the dry stems of the leaves and flowers in the pond were dead and struggling to guard an old root, and the beams of thousands of houses in the north were still gently holding a small empty bird's nest under the pressure of the wind and snow, and then, suddenly, one day, the peach blossoms conquered all the mountain villages. The willow tree controls the royal ditch of the royal family and the river head of the people - spring is like a royal master with a clear banner, and the group has been pious for a long time and pious prayers and becomes beautiful.

And about the name of spring, there must have been such a story: before the "Book of Songs", before the "Book of Songs", before the Cangjie made words, a little sheep suddenly felt sweating when gnawing grass, a child suddenly felt the soaring when flying a kite, a pair of legs suffering from wind pain suddenly felt comfortable, thousands of pairs of hands on the bank of the stream, on the pond side of the river, on the side of the river, the hands of the sand suddenly felt the blood of the water, ......As they ran to each other in amazement, they decided to pout their mouths in the shape of whistling and name the season "Spring" with a pleasant whispering volume.

Birds can start measuring the sky again. Some are responsible for measuring the blueness of the sky, some are responsible for measuring the transparency of the sky, and some are responsible for measuring the height and depth of the sky with those wings. And all the birds are not good mathematicians, they squeak and calculate, and nucleus, and finally do not dare to announce the statistics.

As for all the flowers, they have been handed over to the butterflies to count. Give all the stamen to the bees to compile. All the trees, leave it to the wind to pamper. And the wind, hand over to the old wind chimes in front of the eaves to remember and inquire one by one.

Spring must have been like this, or, somewhere, it still is, right? Walking through the Black Forest, where chimneys and chimneys are in the past, I want to visit the spring that lingers in the middle of the distant age.