I like to sit like this, sit on a chair, watch the autumn wind tease the osmanthus flowers, see the cannabis that is still parked in the summer sing red, watch the white clouds in the blue sky gather and spread, and see the bright shadows at the corner of the building.
Sitting like this, light and quiet, the heart seems to float in the sky. I like this afternoon, the inner emptiness, as soft as floating, the time around me, rushing away, and together they all become thin.
The wind blows softly, a leaf also lies in front of the door, the curly leaf surface, the depleted green, in the end is autumn, is it all beautiful, really have to go home with the wind? This autumn, which has been chanted by many literati rioters, is beautiful, sad, rich, and lonely.
Just like the four seasons of our lives. I know that the people and things that have left me in the long river of years are like a leaf in this high autumn, bringing me abundant memories and beautiful autumn.
When you are young, love is not like painting on the beach, painting hard, carving affectionately, but when the tide comes, no matter how much love and affection will be swept away by the waves that wash on the beach. On the table with light and shadow slanting across, look at the painting that was most heavily painted in the green years, and later, it was just a mottled and vague draft in the old paper pile.
The slanting sun in the twilight is wrapped in the breeze, like a smiling face of the deceased, and the magazines spread out on the table are friends who have been familiar after turning over. Secretly, I am also a book, a silent and bland book, the cover may not be exquisite enough, the text may not be gorgeous enough, and the chapters may not be moving enough.
But there are also their own unique character and content, people who have a relationship, naturally will stop to read it, find something that fits with themselves in the book, and those who have no luck, I just annihilated an irrelevant book on the shelf.
Time is like water, leisurely, quiet writing, not classic, not best-selling, but willing to arrange the pages properly, comfortable, so that reading my open book is beneficial, but also plant the days in the paper as you want. The smoke lights are vast, and The peach and plum white write articles.
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