Always in the warmth of the years, drunk miss the dream of time, life is like a journey,
not the destination, but the scenery along the way, as well as the mood to see the scenery,
waken up in the early morning light, the sky is blue, warm sunshine scattered like spring
rain tenderness, birds in front of the window squeaky call, there are unknown flowers
and grass along the road, fragrance overflowing also strong. Zheng does not need to be
complicated, Yan has no trace, leaving behind a song of clear green ringing through
the four dangling forests. Open a heart window of a city and look hard at my hometown.
Isn't it? The scroll of life, only painstakingly touching the long time of life, through
the vicissitudes of painting, can be enough to aftertaste the rest of life. Looking through
the warm dream of autumn water, I miss the time, watching the autumn rain quietly, listening
to poetry recitation, playing several heart words, half of the candles flowing blue tears,
a few beautiful women sadly sing, Xiaoxiang drizzle falling flowers, cold fragrance burial
flowers piled up. Lighting the lonely heart, slowly depicting red beans, each ink wound,
several volumes of ancient rhyme Qingjue. The piano plays and sighs at the sky, the red dust
curtain is dreaming cold, the other shore flowers are blooming all over the bridge. Time is
changing, Sansheng stone carvings, ask for whom to sprinkle their infatuation, for whom they
are still persistent, long-lasting feelings, reincarnation, infatuation, obsessed with the ferry,
vast sea of people, fate tracted two people, know how to attach to two hearts, meet a city, meet
a fate, miss a city, life is a landscape, you are a landscape viewer, when closing a window,
You should try to open another window to meet more beautiful scenery. Time is like a dream and
time is like the wind.Time is like a flowering longing, just like a long tear, flowing quietly
through the four seasons. I walked along the
grassland in early spring with singing, listening to the sound of insects breathing quietly
in midsummer afternoon;
I appreciated the thoughts of late autumn yellow leaves, gazing at the warmth of winter ice
and snow. In the beautiful scenery, I can not find any sad words to describe, and full of
hope for the future. When I get up in the morning, I often read by Jinghu Lake. It is like
a stream near my hometown. I can smell the grass fragrance of dew and wet soil in the morning.
The mist on the water surface is like a wisp of smoke. It slips away from my fingers, leaving
a cool feeling. Occasionally, I swim through several early-rising black swans, spread a circle
of ripples, and wake up sleeping fish. If my hometown is a pen, the ink in my heart is my hometown.
The nostalgia of the detained travelers can not be dispelled. Staying on paper, I will be rendered
by ink and wash. During the collision of hearts, all the persistent pursuit and the whiteness of
time are firmly attached to it, tapping on the heart intentionally or unintentionally. The light
tone of ink and wash in my heart has a different flavor, and it is also a nostalgia that touches
my pale hair. Listen, that's the sound of rain beating bananas in my hometown. Spring rain is like
a makeup artist of life. I can change a city overnight into a piece of green, plump and thin.
I can catch your shadow in the humid air. Rarely in the Red Brick Bell Tower Library, I can read
the desolate old events of the six dynasties, open a heart window, turn the years into oars, row
a boat of life, and float past. Ignorant and persistent years, returning to the sweet dream.
Time passes quietly, time easily dreams, sunshine is like the gentle laughter of branches and flow
ers, Nirvana rebirth day, like a stream of water, the day flows freely, once come and go, everything
flows into nature, invisible cycle, careless surprise, I have changed from a young young man to an
independent youth. One person alone, a long way to go, only dream. When my footsteps are getting
farther and farther, my barren heart is sowing homesickness, harvesting stubble after stubble.
Every time I walk in a foreign lane, I always want to find a familiar taste, place a light
ownership, turn north and south, a bowl of painted cold dishes, a piece of burnt cake, which
is marked with the native sound, like birthmarks are deeply branded on me, every drift.
Parked in a strange city, like to go to a noodle restaurant, order a bowl of steaming
noodles and a plate of cold dishes, with a familiar local accent to chat a few words.
If you are lucky enough, you will meet one or two old people from your hometown, sitting on
the bench, squinting, pulling the erhu, humming affectionately. In a city, you will always remember
the hometown of the other side, adapting to the different seasons, different scenery, different
festival customs and different tastes of food. Life is always so limited, those younger people
who belong to you and me are also so vague. They are not aware when they own it. Only when the
past has passed, can they realize that they have wasted the good time, that the years are still
there,and that the meteor crossed the moment, but forget the humble wish in their hearts. Time is
irreversible, but it can last forever.
Far away from the scenery along the way, and when that empty loneliness comes, that "the
distance blocked by mountains is a kind of despair", and the distance connected by feelings is
a kind of sadness, a person alone in a foreign country, there is always a moment, nostalgia wet
the corners of the eyes, there is always a scene, touching the traveler's heart, there is always
an old shadow, arousing the traveler's heartache, often suffering, but Never regret leaving home.
Often, in a non-troubled corner, there is no noise, dial the phone of relatives, shout to parents,
say that I miss home, or talk about the shortcomings of parents in the neighborhood. In a familiar
but unfamiliar city, I have never forgotten my hometown, put all my thoughts on paper and ink,
borrow a soul of the country, a feeling of the ink, by that candle fire, warm my cool heart. abroad