Autumn is cool

Overnight, the seasons changed from warm to cold. The pen "Fun" Pavilion www.biquge.info was still tossing and turning in the midsummer night, and it was already a cold early autumn in front of me. Reaching out to touch the thoughts of a falling flower flying, the vicissitudes and regrets of the poet's half a lifetime linger in my ears: if life is only as first seen, what is the autumn wind and sad fan.

In autumn, chase a touch of gold, encounter a handful of warmth, and cherish an encounter. This season, autumn, is light and quiet. Clear the ink marks on the paper, shallow the traces left by the years, and quietly lean in the depths of time, watching the flowers bloom and the leaves fall, and the years change.

Perhaps, tomorrow, the flowers will fall, and there will be chaos in one place. Memory, but it is bright. If there is an afterlife, I would like to be a tree, the spirit of a leaf, and see all the autumn.

Autumn rain, bitter cold. Autumn flowers, gorgeous. The footsteps of autumn are swaying in the wind. Hold a transparent umbrella, linger in front of the flowers, and freeze the most beautiful moment.

When the autumn breeze is bleak, when love has become a song, who is waiting for a fireworks of red dust in the season of falling leaves? From the starlight, wait until the sunset in the west mountain, and wait for the noisy days into a glass of crystal wine.

I like to be in such a simple and clear state of mind, sitting by the window, a glass of vegetarian wine, a song, and letting all the prosperity pass by in my eyes. When the ink is dried, the yellowed memories on the plain white paper have long been mottled.

The heart is in autumn, and the eyes are shallow. The flowers bloom and fall in front of the court, and they remain the same every year. The clouds on the horizon are rolling up, and there is no intention to go. The warmth and coldness of the red dust have gradually been seen through, and the willful footsteps no longer wander. So, choose a quiet corner, repair the fence, plant chrysanthemums, and spend the spring and autumn of the first life.

Turn off your phone for a moment and forget about the trivialities. Step on the lightness of the road, and be in this autumn land where the forest is dyed. Don't think about anything, listen, the sound of the wind, look, the drift of the leaves. In my heart, there is no joy or sadness, just quietly enjoy the tranquility of this moment.

The wind blew up overnight, and there was a chill in the air. Walk slowly into the late autumn drizzle. In front of me, there is a curtain of dreams, half a volume of leisure. In my ears, there is a stream in the mountains, bypassing the moss-ridden stone walls, slowly flowing out of an ethereal rhythm.

Time just faded into the eyes. It's cold.