seems to be used to the chill that is higher and higher than the waves. I feel warm and free to wander around in the afternoon.
You can count the branches and vines of the passing years, and it is not difficult to find that the end of autumn has appeared not far away.
Golden erodes, greenness is hard to find, and withering is waiting for a wind to begin with a roar.
The fallen leaves picked up are neatly arranged on the windowsill. I really want to find a way to extend the passing autumn between the veins.
Whatever happens is futile. No matter how deep the obsession is, it cannot touch time.
A pot of tea boils a tranquility under the sun; a poem extends its connection with the ancients.
Time has been a thousand years, and the world has changed. The four seasons are generally similar. In the warm autumn sun, you can watch the flowers and leaves fall together. Even if you don’t have to travel through time, you will have an intersection with the ancients. Perhaps someone has come to where you stand, and you are as light as you, counting the time carefully.
The poems of saying goodbye to autumn in the past are so beautiful that they have stunned thousands of years. Now, because of the troubles, there is no longer the beauty and lightness of the sentences.
End autumn, all things are hidden shallowly, the branches of time are bare, that is the desolation we must pass through.
When people reach middle age, they are no longer pretentious. No one is easy. When encountering things, there is no need to blame others. Just muster up the courage and strode through the withering of the world. There will always be a light snow, and in the early winter, we will greet each other with a smile.
Impermanence is the norm. No one can go smoothly. If you survive, you will be victory.
Don’t forget it at that time, dip your mood and elegant charm, and write a poem farewell to autumn.
I wish I could have a time to be quiet, and be lawless in the last favoritism of autumn.
A pot of strong tea, drink all the bitterness, and the days ahead will be sweeter. A fallen leaf smokes time and makes the plain snow season less desolate.
Time passes through the fine palm lines, and in the silence of light and shadow, watching autumn slip away quietly. The fallen leaves piled up on the street corners are fragments of autumn scattered. Pick up some gorgeous, beautiful, happy, sweet... Put them in a warm corner of winter and preserve them properly.
This autumn, there is leisure and joy, and there is melancholy and sadness.
The distance in the poem has completely withered, and the misery in front of you continues, without any intention of pausing.
Jiangnan, which I planned to go to three years ago, has not yet been realized. The other side in my impression is beautiful like a rose blooming in the mist and rain, pitiful and tempting everywhere.
However, life is shouting, reality is tying, you cannot go too far, you can only lean in front of the window, fantasizing about the blue tiles and gray bricks, and the arch bridge eaves in your spare time.
For me, in today's years, escaping from afar is equivalent to falling into despair. The best thing is to stay in the heated home, and the days when it is extremely lazy and vulgar.
The leaves fly outside the house are frosted, and the tea and oranges are fragrant inside the house are warm. Take a nap in the sunny afternoon, imagine in the evening with a drizzle, and miss the west window in the sky with the moon...
I think I can travel far away.
Now, the collision of pots and pans in the kitchen is a symphony, and the scenery that is used to outside the window is far away. The days are quite comfortable, but autumn is getting farther and farther away.
The seasons are also very annoying, and there is only a long holiday and no retirement.
In a few days, I will have to check in to work in winter. I haven’t seen you for a long time. Thinking of the arrival of frost and snow, I still have a hint of shyness.
Trails, falling flowers, falling rain, falling leaves, falling snow, are all extremely beautiful scenery. Time kisses, and the four seasons flow with different scenery.
The days are fine, only the little Qinghuan and the little sadness. We lean on the ordinary and in the silence, ready to bid farewell to the autumn light.
When winter comes, don’t be sad about autumn, because in the future, we will meet in autumn.
