At about ten o'clock in the morning, I walked through the street, and although it was already early winter, the wind was a little cold, and the pedestrians on the road involuntarily buckled the mouth close to their necks in the wind. The owner of the fruit stall on the side of the road is neatly stacking the fruit, and all kinds of fruits shine seductively in the sunlight. In the garden by the side of the road, there is a white-haired old man, basking in the sun in a sheltered place, closing his eyes and leisurely recuperating.
At the intersection of the town, to the east is a row of low, simple houses—a funeral street in our town," and some of the shops are loading cars with wreaths of paper to the car at the door, and an old woman on the north side of the road is slashing the sorghum stalks used to tie the paper with a knife, serene and attentive.
At this time, the wind became smaller, becoming gentle and soothing, and the aspen on the side of the road was fanning its own leaves, and through the gaps in the poplars was the land that had just been ploughed, glowing black and yellow, and on the ground was a layer of green and furry, some with dewdrops, which were just grown wheat, and the tender yellow was mixed with dark green, swaying in the sun.
Looking up, feeling the warm sunshine of early winter, everything is so peaceful and beautiful, in our town, this most ordinary day, suddenly feel: the whole world, all things are happy, each has its own place.
In one of the world's tiniest corners, a hint of wind blows, a ray of sunlight warmly searches, people's lives continue in an orderly manner, and even the willow trees on the graves in the distant fields are still glowing yellow and green.
In just such a moment, I felt that life was really beautiful, time was quiet, and even the flower buds in winter stopped withering.
Love life, love yourself, this is the most beautiful choice in life.