Unknown outline, unclear details, distant mountains, faint meaning. Movement can be corrected, stopping can be imagined, and continuity and ups and downs are a beautiful perspective. What is distant must not be real enough, and what is real must be boring. Slowly swallowing, swal

Unknown outline, unclear details, distant mountains, faint meaning. Movement can be corrected, stopping can be imagined, and continuity and ups and downs are a beautiful perspective. What is distant must not be real enough, and what is real must be boring. Slowly swallowing, swallowing up the light, watching the sky getting darker and hearing the rain getting denser and denser. The hazy rise, the hazy meandering, a hazy feeling with deep artistic conception.

The fog is thick and white, vague and looming. On a foggy day, only the outlines can be seen, but no details, perhaps because of the hazy beauty. I think a lot of things may not be too clear, and it is often boring to show them in detail. From rough to rough, from chaos to chaos, indecipherable and without questioning. The thick fog lingers, and you can't wake up from your dreams. Haziness is both a state and a kind of beauty.

The clouds are heavy, the rain is falling, and the yellow plum sky is visible again. Huangmei is a unique celestial phenomenon in Jiangnan. In Huangmeili, everything becomes hazy, people are full of melancholy and their hearts are moist. The endless rain knocks on the windows from time to time, and the ticking sound often wakes up Xia Meng. May I ask when the yellow plum blossoms will close? The sky is silent and I feel sad.

Standing in the vast northwest, a rain pulled me back to the thin Jiangnan. Thinking of the smoke and water in my hometown, I think of the haze in my hometown. The hazy place in the smoke and water is full of light rain. Those winding streams, those sycamores fallen leaves, I walked from one stone bridge to another, I went from one lovesickness to another. The sound of falling rain has filled all the gaps in time. My memories are all in the rain, the rain in the south of the Yangtze River, and the rain in the northwest now.

The plank road spirals along the mountainside towards the top of the mountain. The wooden plank road really looks like raised strings, emitting bursts of beautiful harmonies accompanied by the wind and birds. The white gauze-like rain blocked my sight. My feet were walking on a winding plank road, and my heart was floating in a hazy emerald green.

Watch a rain for you, and read a stream for you. The rain and streams together are not as good as my tears. Think of the surging rivers, lakes and seas, the migratory waterfalls and green springs. There are sparkling waves and gurgling water everywhere. I want to collect all the water and all my poems into a hazy world for you.

The darkness is about to turn to the bright morning, and the colorless and transparent dew drops silently, leaving the flowers and leaves with a shy body in the ambiguous time. Dew is like tears, short-lived but pure, clear and round, dim and dim, making you feel pity when you see it. When the dew comes, it drops a hazy light; when the dew goes away, it leaves behind a clear sky.

It feels astringent when I first think about it, but when I think about it again, I find it beautiful. Green, the tender body curled up under the warm sun is juicy, shiny, and has some inherent shyness and reserve. I could vaguely see it in the place closest to spring, as green as a bamboo, as green as a pool of water, always peaceful, always quiet and beautiful. Hazy, clear , Qingqing is between hazy and clear, between the hazy you and the clear me.

There are bursts of spring breeze and bursts of red. The moon sleeps in the night, and the heart is in chaos. Flying in the chaos, drifting in the chaos, dots of red fall in the dark night, hazy and sparse, lingering and lingering. Luan Hong interprets a unique flower rain, and Luan Hong expresses a sad feeling. The flower branches are thin, but the beauty is not old, and the bright red on a moonlit night is still beautiful.

The beauty of the reed flowers is really hard to describe. The flying bits look like snow but not snow, like fog but not fog. They are so hazy and beautiful. There is a lot of beauty that cannot be accurately expressed. For example, those gray-white flowers born in the reeds bloom softly and fly lightly. The wind blows the reeds and the fluff is low. I don’t know for whom the reeds are flying. My eyes are blurred, my heart is blurred, the sky is still full of tidbits dancing in the sky, and I am still standing deep in the reed flowers.

Speaking of the white moon, the image of thin, cool and cold comes to mind, which seems white but not white, hazy and transparent. The white moon is a quiet color, with half cirrus clouds and a lake, which is like a place where the moon is white and the wind is clear. The white moon gradually spreads out in the depths of time, until it reaches in front of the flowers and under the eyebrows, accompanied by a burst of light smoke and a few drops of clear dew.Just write a few sentences under the moonlight, and it will have the properties of porcelain and silk, as well as the taste of the moonlight leisurely scenery.

A few feet of white gauze wrapped around the candlelight, also wrapping up the tranquility and coolness around it. Holding a white gauze lantern and walking softly, it emits a shallow and warm light. At this moment, the shadows of flowers are whirling, and there are people walking lightly, creating a hazy beauty. Meeting the white gauze lantern is like meeting Guxi today. Under the white gauze lamp, it is a quiet time, a slow time, and a beautiful time.

The twilight rolled up, and everything appeared, a little dazed and hazy. A row of bamboo forests confirmed the slow movement of light. Firewood was burning in the kitchen, boiling water was boiling, and wisps of white smoke rose straight up, got out of the door frame, and drifted into the distance. I sat on a chair and looked at the green bamboos outside the window. The wind came in among the dense green bamboos. The small wind made me smell the warm fragrance of the farm rice porridge.

I have walked through Hengshan Road countless times. I feel that the road is very long and the time is very short. Yes, in places with petty bourgeoisie, the sunshine will be very slow. Smelling the fragrance of Fatong , your mood will also follow the fragrance. The wind makes the eyes blurry, the rain makes the heart hazy, and those bars and galleries also show off their unique charm in the wind and rain. From time to time, soft music overflows, and from time to time, golden leaves fall, in this wet late autumn, on this wet Hengshan Road.

shy, red and shy are exciting. Like the red moon hanging in the sky, like the red apple hanging on the branches, it is a little hazy, a little moist, a tender smile, and a gentle and resentful look. The truest shyness must be better than the most beautiful confession. Just like this, neither early nor late, neither far nor near, I saw and understood, the shyness of the red color is light, soft and sweet.

I looked back unintentionally and smiled affectionately, in that withering season. Your eyes are as charming as flowers, as gentle as water, and they grow a trace of attachment in my heart, hazy, lingering, blurred and warm. Leaning lightly on the other side, sometimes looking at the moon, sometimes looking at the flowers. The moon is still the same, the flowers are still the same, but your smile when you look back is missing--