When the first ray of the wind alexander hera wedding, blows over his brow. Thoughts of dignified, into a smoke drifting into the distance. Just then, unusual. Canthus tears shed, just know, dream has left, nowhere is belong to the state. Only sigh sentence, if life only such as first, where the sad autumn wind painting fan.
Every changan, penning in one thousand. Is for ground from ruin, there are too many unfamiliar faces in the strange city. The rush of the crowd on too many joys and sorrow, clutch and too much. In such a world of mortals stranger, depressing air suffocating, life is like a backwater. And I can only try to let my heart more indifferent, more vitality. In a pure and fresh morning, bubble up a pot of good tea, incense is in tea, fade away the secular once. Or, shallow books several time, started sleeping birds put pen to paper and just know the time in a hurry a person easy to old. Ruthless years, old too much young appearance. Time is one of the best sculptors, carved on a statue of a young face of so many patches of absolute. Once dazed and confused, and gradually become white silence. Perhaps, a night, because of a certain kind of dream woke up suddenly, just know, dream, flower has left.
On the Banks of a brook turbulence alexander hera pre wedding, together with a pot of hot wine, sitting quietly at the shore. In three cups of two weak drinks, see all the three thousand prosperous thing in the world. Fish lights in the distance has been gradually light up. Come the sounds of laughter in the air. Perhaps this moment is happiness in the world. Ring walked along the shore and gently on the river boat, listen to a break, listen to the wind and sound. Only drinks a cup, drawing thousands of ruin. Firm but gentle moonlight, penetrate into his chest, and you'll know "toast to invite the moon, the shadow into three people". Deep breath, only to find that, cold has been persecuted. Wine and variable unstrained wine or liquor, yesterday once more tears, sorrow. Smile myriad world of mortals drunk once, stranger. Drunk once, dream is power times rise and fall. Said a word, dream has left, where is belong to the state.
Sunny afternoon, the wind to remember some of the past, just remember, when the young appearance. A never rot of love. Who were frighted sadness, tears stream down fall. The remaining gentle, like touching the drizzle, playing in my mind. Dry, fade not to go. The fingers touching the tender feelingalexander hera pre wedding, on the one thousand waiting for you. Iii's bitter promise before, only the most beautiful meet. Perhaps, is not met. Really worth it, in one thousand in exchange for low eyes met. Love and not love, love what, do not love what? Rather, play a song of pipa break ten thousand years of waiting. Cabin in the woods, wild life time, wait until the head of white hair. A wisp of the collection of moss, has gradually grow old. Flowers of the helpless, perhaps will slowly thanks to in my dream. Know the, the dream has been wake up, the flower has been falling.
The drizzle outside the window, a trickle delimit falls, the closed heart, is more than the water overflow. Perhaps, sad too much, too painful. One thousand years the wind, forget the original appearance. Ageless fantasy, lonely wheatgrass, insolent don't open the tender. Memories of moss is like previous expectations, the familiar voice, in the ears, the same promise. Perhaps, one day, the wind and cloud change, everything becomes so pale. The sky the lingering with light rain, shaking hands, not tight gray shadow. The corner of the eyes, tears more than, screamed at the top of voice, face is obliged to leave. Maybe this life decree by destiny no portion. Cheat with myself and a next life, next life together again, to see the water out. Has been rain, the heart has been hurt, want to forget all, only to find that those memories had firmly in mind, engraved on the mind. Can't miss you, hate you has to meet stinging pain. Follow in the past, one day, will become so insignificant, so the wind light cloud light. Sober, he realized that the left will never go, never stop to go. All over the sky of the flower dance, and was buried with a waiting for you.
Life is like a dream, the dream life. Wait whose hands may be missed. Originated because out, waiting for the tender, one thousand change don't come I look back. Forget, light not to go. The trembling in one thousand, the ten thousand years of waiting for you. The wind blows cloud falls, days become so haggard, not the friction of time. Under the umbrella of stay, turned to tears, wet my heart. Maybe, this is a feeling, perhaps, this is life. Perhaps, this is the ten million years of bitter change before the promise of a gorgeous turn around. Beautiful encounter, no, gentle. Young time, always can not stand the rains, slowly, everything became so insignificant. Perhaps, to cry, lost. Years, the fewer who waiting for you, spring is so beautiful, the time, many who stay, harvest moon circle still.
Autumn, not only is the harvest season, more of a beautiful season. In this season, don't be busy road, slow down the pace of you, appreciate the infinite variety of scenery, you'll get unexpected surprises company seal Hong Kong.
Clear sky, the wind to west garden, should be in the fall of the spirit of the soul, is also the symbol of the nature of convergence. Otherwise, the day how can so high; How can cloud so elegant; How water is so clear; How could wave so crystal clear; How can the wind is so cool; How can so yellow?
Deciduous leaves on the trees, in particular, are falling down, like the earth covered with a layer of yellow carpet.
Originally the thick leaves, is running out, no longer can not cover the bare branches. The trees begin to convergence, stored energy performance for the winter.
The leaves are not afraid of cold, but not water feed, had to be reluctant to leave.
The farmers are busy harvesting crops, and gradually by the golden field, turned into dry yellow. The straw, neatly line made in the field, like a row of strikers.
Smoke rising from burning straw from time to tome, the smoke with the will of the autumn wind, along the blue ridge, gone with the wind into a jade belt, put your line of sight to the endless distance.
Here is a poem entitled "late autumn", the most can reflect the character of late autumn.
Clear sky geese fly south, the west wind shallow blue.
Cold toothed burclover thief is about to drip, gold leaf to blow a turn over the ground.
Park, the lake, small area , it is beautiful: ginkgo biloba by sunlight and change multiterminal, gradually from weak yellow, golden yellow, deep yellow, under the blue sky white clouds, give a person the feeling of the cool, cool you couldn't say what it is like.
Maple red from green, red, pale red, brilliant red gradually transition, a feeling of "leaves be red in February flower".
Ginkgo biloba and maple leaf colors, doping in the green of evergreen trees, colourful, resplendent, gives people a good autumn beautiful fantasy.
Known as the king of the autumn flowers of chrysanthemum, purple, white, yellow to outshine each other, the wind frost fights, all over from the green grass, dotted with autumn scenery is gorgeous.
All kinds of fruit trees, full of large and small, a variety of shapes, colorful fruit. Heavy, pressed branches curved, like calling people will quickly pick! The sight, brought food to eat to the autumn feeling.
Retired old people, leisurely leisurely came to the park to play CARDS, play chess, chat, in the sun, each taking its joy, good is a scene of peace.
Occasional enthusiastically, by erhu accompaniment singing of people. The old man's singing, although not comparable to a professional singer, but there is no lack clear pronunciation and mellow voice, song sweet sound embellish. Of course, the left cavity sand or is in the majority. But no matter what tone, the vigor is enough. In the song of the jiyang, they seem to forget that the "old" get to think of! That kind of dedication intoxicated , to the increase a bright autumn scenery.
If you take a walk in the park, will see some of the white-haired old man, with a toddler's grandchild, leisurely stroll the park. Late autumn face, had a the grandchild joy! The beauty! You'll suddenly realize: the law of life, the same as the natural law of the basic "no not heartless, maternal gentleness is more protect flower".
An autumn cloud, one dream, years like boiling time, a bit, a bit devouring our youth, we tried to run, to cry, hysteria. But eventually annihilation in waste to counter attack, finally finally settling out a quiet tears of blood Singapore business formation. To become a burden in this quiet without soul body, in a so-called "mature" will have to unruly, aloof, rebellious tu wash out slowly, at the same time, will also be false, perfunctory, camouflage, implant clean mind, let it unclean, as its turbidity. Gradually, we became numb, become good, also was the brew into flesh and blood "mature" aroused deep that I don't know the name of "slave", like a nightmare layers of denudation already mutilated to heart.
Once upon a time, we are no longer cry, cry no longer, because at this time all to all the dirty, perhaps because it is a just, a struggling to society, the original faith of all the hard to avoid some standout, conflicts, such as a rat crossing the street, all go to the wall, in the definition of the social recognition, hideously ridiculous.
After all, we are content with the status quo, to the light with the same faces a different soul been bleached. We've forgotten what is called alexander hera pre wedding"personality", forget how to say "if", forgotten once the young ivory tower ground story, forget the ever once can't let go...
"See the light, however, some" pale to word unexpectedly became the endorsement of the proud of our times, flapping in front of other people that like hand drum hollow chest said: this is our time!
During storm swept through the years, we struggle, no longer only a kind of common ground to tear shout, I do not know is lucky, or fear, perhaps only oneself know, but no matter how, also change not to return have failed to youth, leaving only the heavy memories filled with blood, only the step by step to perfect and with tears and floor into a string of red footprints, melancholy air under the setting sun is reflected a strange beautiful, at the same time also saturated with a sweet scent, one is about to be familiar with or already familiar smell...
Life is like two hands, one hand on busy, mourn. Let us use memory to festivals we already lost youth, set a inscriptions, as well as the one I can never explain to your themerack.