A beautiful spring, quietly came, and quietly left, in this uncertain city. Still habitually standing in place, quietly looking at the front, on the slate bridge washed by the spring rain, walking quietly.
The slate bridge in my memory always seems to be surrounded by a mass of bright red, and the small green lawn is also intoxicated around it. The green of paper drunken fans is infused with a plate of love in the haze. The footprints that come and go give a different hope.
Spring rain, whirling, blurred the whole unyielding season. In the season, I don't know who clenched the memories and twitched on the swaying slate bridge. Lightning and thunder, the mood is also ups and downs. The sunshine over there is still the same, but it is overcast and rainy here.
Slate bridge, very narrow. But it's right for two people to walk side by side. One-way route seems to leave only a figure, the shadow shuttling around the lawn, as if a pair of lovers are slowly coming to this season, the wind of loss over the years, but also found back at this moment.
In fact, a person is better suited to this alley. A long white gauze skirt, swaying in the breeze, seems to rise in the scent of flowers. In the hazy memory, it seems who told me that only one person can go further. Follow the slate bridge and go straight ahead. Ethereal aimlessness, as if to come to the real.
I like the rainy season. Dust can precipitate in the rain, but the mood is the same. In such a weather, find a place where there is no one, drink a cup of tea quietly, look at the scattered rain outside the floor-to-ceiling window, let the blood flow, thoughts fly, but a heart is there, calm as water. Perhaps only when you calm down, you will think about life more deeply. After walking for such a long time, I can't see clearly ahead, but I don't want to look back. Outside the window, the fog was so thick that I couldn't figure out the crossroads ahead. Transpiration is uncertain, and there are a pair of souls who want to escape.
The story of the State of Rain is always looming and distant. I have been weaving inspiration for a long time, but I will let her go in her voice. Listening to the rain, you can always hear a different kind of peace, just like a washed soul. I hope the dust will stop. Raindrops fall, with the young leaves, with Wei Rui, with the birds' wings, kisses, or hugs, moistening these hungry lives along the veins, seeping into their roots. So the raindrop has life, and lives and dies with its carrier. Yes, when raindrops enter life, they begin to moisten a brand-new soul.
Since ancient times, scholars have loved rain, as if in the rain can find their own wisp of real inspiration. Indeed, no matter how lonely you are, you will not be lonely in the call of the rain. The lonely hearts of the people also became a piece of peace. I think I should calm down and listen to the rain, just like sitting Zen, no distractions, escape for a moment, this bustling noise, forget the numerous world brought to their own unwilling. Maybe peace of mind is the only sign that makes you settle down.
May flower lovers are easy to get drunk, especially in the rainy season. Infatuated butterfly love Shuangfei, night miss Wei Rui more? The gongs are lingering like rain, and the river swallow Ouling quietly. I want Poria Ling to cross the river, and that man asks how drunk he will be.
Hold a bay of water and drink it up. Frustrated in the haze, forget the time, forget the soul, drunk overnight in this spring river, blurred helplessness, love than the generosity of the bridge. On Sansheng stone, there will be no one waiting.
However, at present, this fresh slate bridge in the spring rain is not interesting. One step, one footprint, the sun appears, is it still the same?
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