Every sunny day after the beginning of spring, I feel that it is a gift that people have to rejoice.

Sinking down, looking at the balcony, the sun shone obliquely into the floor of the room, and suddenly a crisp birdsong lingered in the ears, and the naughty one was reluctant to fall for a long time, although he had not yet gone out, he could also imagine. The spring breeze is like clear water warmed by the sun, caressing the face, warm as jade.

At this time, I slowly recalled that I had not heard birdsong for a long time. It seems that the trees downstairs are just standing guard for a kind of beautification and completing the task.

Three days ago, as I walked slowly, I unconsciously looked up and saw a bird's nest the size of my three heads on a bare branch on the withered yellow lawn opposite the exit.

Gesturing, there was a burst of joy in my heart, and pictures of my childhood suddenly appeared in my mind.

I am still in the third grade, and there are almost no children of the same age who go home in the same direction as me, and I will inevitably feel a little boring on the way home alone, riding a bicycle.

At that time, I was not nearsighted, and my eyes were like newborn children, looking curiously at every place I could see. However, my starting point was almost out of boredom, and I wanted to pass the time by looking at the scenery around me.

Over time, everything seems to fade and doesn't give me a sense of freshness.

Until, after I saw a very beautiful, delicate bird's nest on a tree.

The rest of the way, I just relied on counting the birds' nests, rippling in the forgotten time, looking for all the branches, staring at the bird's nest above for three seconds, silently reading the numbers, and stepping on the pedal with full of motivation.

The joy of that day speaks for itself.

When I was younger, I found a bird's nest in the bushes on the side of the road, and there were three gray-white eggs with black spots in them, but I was surprised and broke them excitedly.

There are many opportunities to see the eggs in this way, but the young and ignorant do not know that they have left the nest, and they are like fish out of water.

After that, I never stretched out my claws to pick up the eggs I saw, and left quietly, silently diluting my desires.

It's not that I haven't raised birds, two pigeons, different times, different encounters, one helpless, one heartache.

Of course, this is not yet a familiar time, just like my first pigeon, eating and drinking well and sleeping well in my house, and finally it slipped away without knowing it on a dark and quiet night.

The second, because of the negligence of the family, was eaten alive by a weasel in the yard in the middle of the night.

The next day, all I could see was a cage stained with blood and feathers.

There are many bird encounters, but none of them last long.

Could it be that there is a fate between me and the bird?

No matter what, no matter what, as long as I hear the birdsong that is familiar or unfamiliar, I can't help but sigh in my heart.

In their voices, it's pure, it's clean.

The happiness, sadness, pleasure, and heart-warming expression can poke at the heart at once.

Although I only heard the sound and did not see it, it was still true.

The song of the spring breeze is nothing more than that they leave their own words.