Spring is in full swing, and the soft spring breeze passes through the cold winter, walks through the barrenness of March, and stays on the branches of April. The soft sunlight pierced through the heavy clouds, awakening the sleeping creatures, pushing open the windows of March, and smearing the desolation of the years with a touch of green.

The weather in April is cloudy and sunny, rain and rain, although it is not a colorful thousand miles, but it is not bleak and gloomy. The pace of time will not stop for anyone to say that it is wasted, and the change of seasons will not stop for anyone to miss. Before you know it, March is closed. Looking back on the past, the splendor and brightness in the course of life have carved deep traces on the annual rings. It's spring again, and when I open the title page of spring, it's full of hope.

The fragrance of flowers is silent, and the spring is rippling. Those hidden attachments in the bottom of my heart lightly lifted the faint fragrance of ink when a breeze swirled around my eyebrows. Look at the clouds on the horizon and listen to the flowers blooming and falling outside the window. Standing in the season of spring flowers, picking up the fragrance of the years, brewing a beautiful and elegant life, borrowing a finger of soft breeze to make a note, folding a tender willow as a pen, the fragrant flowers, express into the intoxicating and charming spring, and keep a beautiful time in the quiet.

The night is speechless, and some feelings are in my heart, full of a simple beauty. I crush all the past, knead it in time, let the rhythm of the rain expel my thoughts, and walk through the freshness of nature. Staring through the window lattice, the night is getting deeper, the rain is getting thicker, the wind rises with the rain, a little bit, like the sound of sliding through the soul, which hides the splendor of a season, turns into a bead curtain of whispers, enriching a season of landscapes. Like the softness of the eyebrows, kneaded into the heart, flowing through the ravines and shoals of the passing years, flowing through each circle of annual rings, sublimating in the quiet time, simple years, quiet state of mind.

The rain was fine, gentle and charming, and I didn't think about anything, I didn't remember it. Open the window and let the rain gently rub against the skin. Suddenly, the refreshing infiltrated into the blood like love, and naturally there was a fresh and pleasant state of mind. Listening to the sound of the rain, bathing in the rain, and looking at the path outside the window, I seemed to be a little hazy, and I suddenly went back to a few years ago.

I've walked on that trail countless times. Whether it's on a moonlit night or on a rainy night. Often when it was raining lightly, I walked comfortably on the trails. Now that Shaohua is gone, the trail is still there, and I am slowly aging.

The drizzle gently beats on the window lattice, and the sound of the rain is heard in the silence, and a faint sadness wells up in my heart. Sit alone on a rainy night, listen to the rain, and taste the rain. I like the romance and grace of the rain, I like the far-reaching artistic conception of the rain, listen quietly, the dialogue between the heart and the rain, from far to near, the conversation between the spirit and the soul...... Let your thoughts spread, listen to the sounds of nature and the pulse of your heart, and listen to the murmur of the rain. The cool rain that lingered in my heart soaked my soul, sometimes tactful, sometimes agitated, sometimes lingering, sweeping through my damp ventricles. Listen to the rain, open the dusty memories, and fade away the glitz and irritability.

On a rainy night, enjoy a tranquility alone, let the footsteps of time, walk by the rain and go away. In front of a window, watch the rain fluttering and swaying, and listen to the sound of the rain. Rain, as if there is but is not; Sound, silence is better than there; Read, want to complain and rest.

On a rainy night, who is gently twisting that faint sorrow, sitting quietly on the edge of the folds of the season, watching the raindrops lead the skirt corners of the past to sway in tenderness. The rainy night is dark and fragrant, a little past is also faint, listening to the falling flowers and broken rain in the wind, the drops are like tears, looking at the rain and jingling bells, covering the volume and sighing, the lonely shadow weeps, speechless.

The dripping raindrops, so spiritual, seem to be sad, occasionally poetic, make people love and pity, like an amorous girl, like an amorous lang, the lingering rain drenched the silence in the depths of the soul.

The wind is still blowing, and the rain is not coming. Smoke and rain are like smoke, eternal love. Pick up a piece of vicissitudes of wind and rain, put it in your heart, and collect it in the dust.

Memories are stained with the thinness and coolness of the wind and rain, and the warmth and coldness are written into the watery years, making up for the wet stories in the text. The cup of time is full of aftertaste, pick a glass, and drink it all with the rain of longing. accidentally alarmed a dream of smoke and rain, and it caused soft ripples in the depths of my heart.

Leaning on the window to listen to the rain, reading books and tasting tea, the days are as clean as water, the rain has left the smoke color, that touch of blue, how many Qianqian's hearts are in the heart, lingering on the riverbank of time.