The summer wind blows, in the dew of the morning sun, in the warmth of the afternoon, in the curl of fireworks at night... Do you still remember it? The summer wind blows, and I feel the smell of memory. The fresh breeze in the morning woke up the chirping of insects and birds, a

The summer wind blows,

is in the dew of the morning sun,

is in the warmth of the afternoon,

is in the curl of fireworks at night

...

Do you still remember?

The summer wind blows and I feel the smell of memory.

The fresh breeze in the morning woke up the chirping of insects and birds, and awakened so many beautiful summer mornings in my memory.

There is childhood fun in that memory, which started as soon as I opened my eyes. It was like the morning breeze rumpling the surface of the lake, creating ripples, and time was running around in circles. This memory that falls in the morning is like the long vines swaying in the morning wind, which reminds me of a lifetime.

The memory contains the inspiration of my youth, which started from the morning glow, like the morning breeze blowing on the branches, gently blowing the greenness of the greenery, letting the heart dance lightly in the morning breeze. This memory that falls in the morning is like the long dress flowing in the morning breeze, which aestheticizes the ignorant time.

There are footprints of growth in that memory, which are the eyes that bloom in every morning light, dancing with the summer wind in the early days of summer.

In the summer in my memory, the wind blew.

It was a wisp of wind at noon, which blew away the shyness of the wilted flowers. Only the mottled light and shadow swayed under the shade of the trees, and a sense of laziness permeated the time.

In the memory, there is a childhood playing by the stream. How many children's joyful sounds are stored in the stream? There are so many winds blowing and rolling wantonly on the bank of the stream. The warm wind carries the refreshing fragrance of the grass, which becomes a cool time in the memory.

In that memory, there is the sweetness of sleeping peacefully at noon. It was a time to take a nap while reading a poem with a book as a pillow. Just like in this hot summer, there is a clear spring slowly flowing from the stream into my arms. What flows is the rhyme of the wind blowing on the pages of the book, and the rhyme is the Chinese years marked with leisure and tranquility. In the gurgling time, the poems are like the wind, blowing the heart, becoming a time of elegance and immersion.

In that memory, there is a long gown, a folding fan, a volume of books, and the luxury of time. When I bend down at my desk, it feels like a breeze, when I raise my wrist, I feel like I am facing a spring and waterfall. The summer wind blows in my heart like this.

The most beautiful and profound memory is the summer breeze blowing through the night.

It was the breeze passing by in the night, the stars were like a river, and the moon was bright. Only the breeze shook the branches and leaves in the flower window, shook them all over the ground, and wrinkled the time in the palms.

The breeze in my memory is the cattail leaf fan gently waved in my mother's hand. It drives away mosquitoes and brings us coolness. Whenever I think of it, it is like the breeze comes again, entering my heart. The gently swaying cattail leaf fan brought in the breeze, brought stability, and brought me memories of my life.

In that memory, there are the most sultry fireworks floating in the breeze. That is when the shadow of the sun disappears and the moon rises on the branches. The old people move out the wicker chairs to enjoy the cool air and fan themselves with cattail fans. The summer night in the memory, this time A wisp of breeze is the figure swaying on the bamboo chair, the coolness of the cattail fan when it is raised, the sweetness of a mouthful of watermelon, and the refreshingness of a bowl of iced mung bean soup. This wisp of breeze just lingers around the time in the fireworks.

There is the most familiar but most distant taste in that memory. Whenever I think of it, it is the same as before. Whenever I think of it, I can only taste it in my memory.

The summer wind blows,

is the joy in the morning glow,

is the influence of the afternoon heat and humidity,

is the moon shadow in the night fireworks,

...

There is a wisp of summer wind blowing But what did

blow?

blow away what?

Just this summer,

What do you think of?

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