Outside the window, the unknown flowers have bloomed into a scene, in the hurried sun, I can't help but watch it, and I don't know how much I missed the beautiful scenery of the morning. Only on such days, when the heart is sober and people are idle, can we see the face of the flowers and taste the charm of the flowers.

I'm not a flower lover, but I definitely don't hate it. They bloom tenaciously and prove that they have a unique color of life, and they can't get bored.

These flowers, or fields, or parks, even a small habitat on the side of the road, are places they don't dislike. The purple is bewitching, the red is dazzling, and the best thing should be the multi-colored flowers. They bloom proudly, without being influenced or restricted by geography.

If we were to find one reason for not getting tired of spending money among the many reasons, then it would be more than capable of convincing us. Even people who don't like flowers will be shocked by the life force of flowers in an instant, except for a few delicate varieties. Flowers are only asking for this, and it is just like this, that they can be seen in the streets and alleys, docks and ports, ordinary people's homes, and rich courtyards.

They don't care about the poverty of the flower grower, no matter how handsome they are. Give it a thin piece of soil, a pair of experts who are good at farming, and still make the barren land into a landscape, and live a vibrant beauty of the poor land, warming the heart of every visitor.

It happened to be the rainy season, and I had nothing to do, and all kinds of karma forced me to better understand the nature of flowers, and also deeply understand myself.

The rain hit the petals drop by drop, and the water droplets didn't have time to stop, but they slipped down in an instant, splashed on the windowsill, and about the thick dust on the windowsill, followed by the puddles in the recesses, and slowly disappeared. How many hours has it rained, and there is no way to find out. Only the flowers in front of the window, facing the wind, blocking the rain, shaking but not giving up the scene, the curtain is imprinted in my mind.

The rain passed, the wind stopped, and I saw their ugly roots, the scarred roots, like a knife, carved into the roots of their struggle, but they came strongly, isn't this the greatness of life, this can't shake your heart at all.

The person who designed the garden should also be a nymphomaniac. People who love flowers and are fascinated by vassal elegance will never think of a delicate and tender flower shining out of the window, what an inspiring picture it is. However, I don't know who ignorantly destroyed this elegance, and let the flowers that grew up suffer such a heavy wound.

I don't know how hard such a large group of flowers have endured, and how many ups and downs they have gone through. However, I believe that it is those who have experienced the past that make the flowers more fragrant and colorful, so as to nourish every flower guest who is in a hurry or slow, and a heart that understands flowers.

A flower, no matter where it blooms or what happens to it, as long as it never gives up. There must be such a person, who has a romantic encounter with it, warms the heart of the dusty servants, and warms everyone who looks at the flowers. Then, with the showiness of a flower, go all the way to a more distant place.

What a rush of spring rain, a good bush of flowers, and a calm heart.

Take off the thick coat of hypocrisy, travel lightly, and collide with the innocent good times in life! In your eyes, with you, in this great time, the spring of the years, you sing, I dance, dress up the loveliest face in each other's eyes, you go, I will go, follow you, to the end of the years.

Bury the sorrows in your heart under the big tree in the sky, and if the next year is good, you will decorate the scenery you love the most. Now, the moment is bleak, depressed, depressed, and every plucking of the strings is the heartache of being alone in the night, waiting for the lonely desolation. Diligence, hard work, harvest, and the process of running for happiness in life, absent from your appearance, the stage becomes boring, and the performance is no longer excellent.

If you are a fairy, you can live your life to the fullest? The vows in fairy tales, in the flow of tears, are imposed on a person who can no longer be impossible, and every day is full of regrets but sweet days. Time will pile you up, thoughts will train you into crystals, bury you in the soil, write all the words of blessing on the tombstone, and wait for the coming year in the quiet, but I hope you can sprout and take root, like a warm warmth, rooted in my heart. In a world of one person, all the things I can do for you, thinking that you can know after all, only moved me in the end, and I couldn't stop the tears from my eyes.

Become a vine, climb up your window lattice, listen to you quietly in the silent night, in your gentle breathing, you can still catch a trace of me, a tearful heart, and a crying tired you. A you, a bed, a window, a month, missing can be so simple, so simple that every item in the room is like a souvenir, full of nostalgia and regret! A yellowed leaf is a bookmark, and that page records the past that we can't go back to.

I'm not sure if the person calling for help in the nightmare is you, waking up from a dream with lingering palpitations. I don't believe that the person in the momentary illusion is not you, so gentle, so familiar, and even one of your movements can affect the rhythm of my breathing throughout the day. I don't know if I can still trace you to the end of the world, leaving my footprints in the endless desert of the world?????? I hope you quench your thirst, look at you, silently, silently to the earth, towards you, you can go to the end of the world.

Riding a butterfly feather, walking alone in a world without you, every time you pass a junction, you don't forget to look back. Is that you, in the hazy moonlight, are you still waiting for me? My hair is gray, my fingers are bent and I can't straighten anymore, my teeth are thin, and the smell of the world can no longer be tasted. I have taken all the time that has given me, and I have taken it all by myself, and I am pale in the moonlight, and the hazy figure in the shadow of the moon, are you laughing at me? I am drunk, tired, and sleep with a withered soul.

After the lights are dimmed, after those prosperous neons fade in color, thousands of things reveal their true colors, and the peace is silent on a hill. You see, that strong tree can take root and grow on stones, and that weed can grow lush and vigorous in the dry earth. Also, there are those who are poor, who can be self-sufficient in such a difficult environment and live a good life.

If a leaf is a spring, how many springs should there be in the lush trees of the sky full of branches? They should have enough time to enjoy, to fall in love, to waste, to wait, and to have enough energy to dress up and live as the loveliest in the eyes of the world, and to maintain that posture for thousands of years, ten thousand years.

Fold the flowers of March, fragrant sleeves, only in the years; Artemisia has seen the lotus in June, and the emerald color will be, just like yesterday's dream; Sui walks past the leaves of September, the sound touches the ears, knocking on the heartstrings; Pick up the snow that has passed through the winter month, and the pieces are cold, and they fall between the eyebrows. The past is thick and light, the color is clear, and it has been light; After years of joys and sorrows, the heart is like a mirror, and it has been quiet.