The tree in front of the door, more than one person is tall, it can shade the sun in a sunny day, and it can become a typhoon shelter in the shade.

The trunk and stars of this tree are the signs of spring red and willow green!

Go to the right, the road, drowning at the end of the traffic. I looked at it, but I couldn't see the back of winter, but I saw spring, and I was in a commotion.

This movie-like street scene is like spring, autumn, winter and summer, with strobbling, no freeze frame, whether you are sad or happy.

Human beings are complex and simple by nature. It's as simple as food, clothing, housing and transportation, and as simple as courtship and warmth. Complex? The complexity of people may be the sprouts of willows, you say it is strange and strange, you say it is not strange or special. It's about whether you're happy or lost, the years change, and the wheels are sprinkled.

Sometimes, walking barefoot on the asphalt road is also a different experience. The contact between soft and hard is like a wild horse that is happy and submerged in the hooves of a horse in the wilderness. Especially the peach blossoms on the side of the road are blooming in clusters, I carry the skirt, count as I walk, count until how many stops?

From spring, count to autumn......

You say, I'm cute, I have the brightest smile in the sun, tiptoeing and smelling the peach blossoms.

You say, I am beautiful, and I touch you lightly with the cleanest heart in the world, eyes that are also full of love.

You say, I am a different kind of woman, I purse my lips in response to the panic and fawn sorrow you see through everything......

You say that the cycle of the four seasons is a change in a blink of an eye. I stretched out my feet in the moonlit spring, looked back at the elongated shadow behind me, and stood obliquely in the bright years of my youth.

It's about the years, I guess, I already know.

It is not like water, but it floats and floats,

It is not like a cloud, but it swings and swings,

You say, on the other side of the mountain is the sea, and I asked, what does the sea taste like?

You smiled, laughing like the person in your dreams, and I saw you, as if I saw myself, running barefoot.

You say, the sea is the smell of tobacco.

Why, I asked?

You said

Life, life, departure, death, farewell, a Sichuan tobacco, buried with the waves.

It's about emotions? It's to suck it in and spit it out.

Taste or not? It doesn't matter.

Born confused, the sea, too.