A river covered bridge, acacia on the water
Author: Dot Line Surface Editor: Ichimon Fangfei
The wind and snow moon write the past of the wind flower and the snow moon, and recall the story of intertwined love. The unspeakable that cannot be forgotten, the difficulty of giving up, the dripping of tears. The smoke clouds of the three separate ropes were torn to pieces by the fierce wind. The light boat that swayed the turbid waves was moored into a plank that had lost its direction.
Weak stars without light, gray fishing fires, falling into a vicissitudes. The thoughts of the past have dried up the memories of yesterday. Once hugged, blown thin under the gentleness of the moon. The night vanished from the light and darkness, and all that had been before had become a touch of lightness and was blown away by the wind. The results were written wordlessly, all dried on the endless sand.
A snow moon, dyed winter plums. A long string of plum blossom fragrance drifts from the hillside and winds around the alley, rich in the folk songs of southern Guangdong and the crimson red of kapok. A figure on the side of the bridge was clinging to the pillar, looking at the light boat in the distance, and tears covered the eyelashes and blurred the distance. The wind blew away the sunset that went west at dusk. The rain, drenched the pillow, soaked in the painful crescent moon. The honey written on the chest, a turn is gone. Just now I was still touching the heart, but in the blink of an eye, it turned into a thin mist.
Smoke and rain a curtain, the sound of semitones. Foreshadowing is desolate and drizzling, and the hazy moon is difficult to sleep. Haggard with an umbrella of blue flowers, the song rhyme fell under the bridge flowing water. The apricot blossoms fluttered in the clouds, and a few traces fell in whose heart. A few petals of flowers are waiting to be released, on whose blue flowers.
The water of the Yanchi River leaves a strong fragrance on the shore. The distant white sail carried away a lonely heart, and the oars hit the page after page of dreams. The peach blossoms are red, the plum blossoms are still white, like the blooming thousands of greens and reds, such as the depiction of the Intuo love note, it is just a light rain, and the grace has become a bubble, and the vow has become a void. The former upper que was the bright moon of the Qin Dynasty, and the former lower que was the moonlight of HanJiang. Everything is like flowing water to the west, and a wisp is frozen like a cold wind. Shake thousands of miles of wounds, write the past into the past.
Smoke and rain drunk me, and then crossed the autumn cool. The paddle swims on both sides of the town, there are my footprints, there is my thoughts, there is my teaching, there is the moonlight that accompanies me, there is my long xiao that guards the moon, a river covered bridge, and the acacia water.
After walking through the four seasons, there will be reincarnation. Spring has a hundred flowers, winter cold wax moon plum. A leaf light boat, carrying a boat of neon clothes, red hijabs, green clothes, accompanied by a scream, holding hands into the new house...
About the Author:
Dotted line surface, settled in Beijing. Horizontal and vertical years, skimming time, using pen and ink to write about the vicissitudes of wind and rain, sweet and sour, bitter and spicy.