At this time, I listened quietly to the rain outside the eaves, and dripping to my heart. The drizzle is drizzling, soft and affection are touching, warm and long-lasting. The sound fell slowly and steadily, like listening to a clear and pleasant song.
The ancients wrote about autumn, and most of them were parting and sentimental feelings. Writing about autumn rain again adds to the taste of sorrow and makes thousands of thoughts come to my heart. Zhu Shuzhen’s eyes in “The autumn rain is heavy and the night is long, and the dream is hard to come true and the place is desolate. Banana leaves on In the sycamore , the sounds are heartbroken.” Every sentence is filled with sorrow and sadness. But I like autumn, especially middle-aged. When I was a teenager, I loved summer only because of the thin shirt and skirt flying in midsummer. The youth were even more interested in spring, with flowers blooming like brocade, green, full of hope and vitality. In middle age, she especially likes autumn because she is not as kind as spring. The flowers bloom desperately and bloom until they are full of flowers. It is not as passionate as summer, with all kinds of insects and frogs and cicadas chirping. It is not as cold as winter, and everything returns to silence, and it is cold and gray. What is autumn? It is the sky high and the clouds are vast, the towering green mountains walk on both sides, and the green water is swaying and blue waves. Is it the fruitful branches that are full of fruits, is it the mature rice that bent over, or is the bright and charming person smiling humbly. Or what? It is the autumn rain outside the eaves, which is light but powerful, rustling under the bamboo forest, the fields, and abundant blessings in the world.
Yidian No. Erya
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