The wind is blowing. The leaves of the sycamore trees in the yard are swaying in the wind. Occasionally, a leaf or two falls leisurely, and I think it must be unwilling, because even if it turns into spring mud and grows on the branches again in the next year, it will be the next year, the next life. Who can say what will happen in the next life? I said, not every leaf is so willing to fall under the roots of the tree and turn into spring mud for the next year. It's not that it forgets its roots, it's not that he is unwilling to dedicate, it's just that it has his nostalgia. Just like in winter, the last leaf on the tree must be persistent, clinging to the nostalgic branches, even if the cold wind erodes the body, even if it is broken bones.

The wind was getting stronger, and I moved a chair and leaned against the wall, watching the rain fall. Occasionally a drop or two was blown on my face, so light, so soft, like a lover's kiss, with a hint of shyness in the heat, frivolous and reserved, and the mark left was like a little bit of red lip gloss she left on my cheek.

Legend has it that every rain in this world is the result of the tears of a sad person. It follows from this that Heaven must be merciful, and when there are many weepers, it weeps with them.

If you have the heart, please stand in the rain, if there happens to be a drop of rain in the corner of your eye, I will treat it as a tear for you to return me. And you must be able to feel my sorrow, so sorrow, just like this rain, so sorrowful.

Slowly, the rain became heavier and heavier, I put down an iron basin under the eaves, watched the moment the rain fell from the eaves to the inside, and then made a beautiful sound, so wonderful, like a baby's whispering, I watched and listened to it as if I was fascinated. A layer of water gradually appeared in the basin, and the sound of raindrops falling into it gradually became crisp, and then stirred up a layer of shallow ripples. Drop by drop, lingering continuously, like a lover's love words in his ears, people are intoxicated and unable to extricate themselves.

In fact, as long as you are willing to calm down, all the sounds in this world are beautiful.

Everything has a spirit, but what kind of state it is depends on your mind. It's like the heavy melodies of the cello and the melodiousness of the violin are all beautiful melodies that surround people's hearts, but if your heart is in turmoil, then no matter how beautiful the sound is, it may be tantamount to playing cotton to you, and vice versa.

It's a pity that our hearts have long been infected by the hustle and bustle of the world, and we can't find sustenance, so we are busy for some reason. We are all like the living dead in the grave, unconscious, lost faith, and rehashing the same things as yesterday every day, just for a mouthful of blood and mixed food. Of course, there is no pursuit. Please, no matter what, live your own life. Born is a blank piece of paper, what color to paint, completely up to yourself, at the end of your life you will find that some people are gorgeous, some are spotless, and some people are through the ink. Since you only have one chance to color, why not make your life a little more splendid? Or are you the living dead in the grave, just living for the sake of living?

I stood against the window for a long time, forgetting the time. Enjoy every second of this rain because it always inspires me.

Suddenly, a spring thunder exploded. A spring thunder woke up all things that were sleeping, including me. I walked down the pavilion and walked into the spring rain, letting it spread everywhere on my skin, moist but not wet. I often say that nature is always fair, no matter gender, no matter age, no matter rich or poor, no matter how handicapped, it will always be so fair, so fair to every Holy Spirit in this world, even if it is a grass.

Soon the rain stopped and I returned to the eaves. Looking at the world after the rain with joy, it took on a new look. The willow branches pull out thin shoots, and under the poplar tree in the distance, the older boys are twisting the whistle with poplar bark, and there are also children stepping on the old ox under the elm tree to pick elm money to eat, laughing so happily and so purely.

In fact, we are all very tired of living, because we carry too much. Just like when my parents wanted to go out when I was a child, they would leave the door key to me, and I was afraid of losing it, so I tied a red rope and let me hang it on my chest. But when we grew up, we couldn't hang the car keys, the house keys, the cabinet keys, and so on, because they were too heavy, so we pinned them to our waists. Opening one lock after another every day is more like solving one trouble and worry after another.

The master said: quiet and inactive, free and comfortable.

Our pace is so fast, you look down the street, and everyone is hurrying with their heads down, always in such a hurry, no matter what the purpose is. Just as we are anxious to grow up and then lament the loss of our childhood, we trade our health for money and then use it to restore our health, we are anxious about the future and ignore the happiness of the present, so we do not live in the present or in the future, we live as if we never died, and before we die, as if we never lived.

We all know that there is no dress rehearsal in life, every day is a live broadcast, so why not stop your anxious pace, stand for a while, and look at the scenery around you, even if it is to listen to the wind, even if it is to watch the rain. Since this is a one-way trip with no turning back, why not take a look at the scenery of the journey, let your heart get a moment of purity, and make your life a little more colorful, even if it is just a point!

Oh, by the way, the second sentence is, look down on the rivers and lakes! You know.