You are no longer alone in the cold snow, proud of the loneliness and loneliness without spring. You can laugh at the coldness and arrogance, you can shed tears in the bitter cold, or you can escape from this day called winter.
The content of a painting is simple and clear: It is cold and freezing, and a plum blossom blooms. The silent posture remained unchanged, and the sound of falling snow came. You unfold a person's loneliness, freeze the mood in the distance, and even freeze the vividness in the place.
A piece of tranquility is brushed on the forehead, and a slight coolness comes one after another. Those traceless sorrows and joys gradually become white in the clearness, and in the light freehand brushwork, warmth changes in various faces, and romance is vaguely nestled in the arms.
You are no longer alone in the snow, proud of the loneliness without spring. You can laugh at the coldness and arrogance, you can shed tears in the bitter cold, or you can escape from this day called winter. Missing is like a bird with wings that flies far away in dreams, just to find a warm figure. It’s my dream, and it’s also your longing.
In the old days I miss, my youth is staggering and I am tired from leaving early, which makes me endlessly sad, but the days are refreshing. But I don’t know: On a bright moonlit night and a clear breeze, the branches of wintersweet will bloom beautifully against the snow all over the sky.
