The window of the room faced north, the wind was very cold, and the light was very dark. I was too lazy to open the window all day. The curtains and windows were tightly closed, and then the lights were turned on, and I couldn't tell the difference between day and night.

Some new leaves were welcomed on the road, the leaves were bright white, and the fallen leaves were falling. He was as happy as ever about the falling leaves, and as always disgusted with the coldness that eroded his bones.

Between the layers, a large piece of white is piled up. How can I say that I like it? My heart is so close, looking at the horizon, looking forward to the whiteness of the mountains and rivers at the end, pressing the branches and leaves, and reaching into my eyes.

Said: "The leaves are falling again."

And leaves are enough to describe it, without too many gorgeous words to describe it. Holding a few pieces in the palm of your hand, this cool and thin beauty is irresistible.

In the silent white silence, those things hidden in the depths of the years, the more this happens, the more slowly they wake up and grow wantonly in the passing years. It is the mottled white under the moon, the thinness of the branches and leaves, and the dryness of the years.

My thoughts are like falling leaves that can never be retained.

With the help of those who were sleepy and unwilling to fall asleep, I looked at the leaves, the cold wind blew again, barely got some warmth, and finally fell silent for a thousand times.

The story of fallen leaves has always been calm and irritable. The more entangled it is on the ground, the more irritable it becomes. I am too lazy to argue, so let it go.

Just like some new leaves, it is enough to see them. Those that cannot be kept or gone back are the best and worthy. The big tree does not have to regret it.

Maybe everything has a mission, but what I care about is how it will be accomplished.

Since noon the day before yesterday, fallen leaves have been falling from the sky sporadically. It is dark, there are no leaves on the road, only some water spots.

I stood in front of the window, recalling the exciting leaf scenes in previous years, and looking forward to the leaves in front of me, looking forward to seeing that dreamlike world soon.

But the leaves just fell slowly and did not speed up because of my expectations.

The fallen leaves flying all over the sky are like white elves, freely changing their dancing posture and appearance in the sky. The stars at noon the day before yesterday turned into the rustling sound of the night, and at noon the next day, they were as fast and dense as drizzle.

As it fell to the ground, people couldn't help but marvel at its weirdness.

This elf danced gracefully in a white dress, immersed in the beautiful dance, unable to extricate himself, and the whole world became enchanting and complicated.

Day and night, it flies tirelessly.

Before I knew it, the roof and branches were covered with a thick layer of white. The silver-clad fairy tale world I was looking forward to had already taken shape.

Now, it is still falling quietly and unhurriedly. The leaves on the ground have become richer and more holy. The beautiful leaf scenery attracts adults and children from every household to scream and get out of the house. , take pictures,

Sweeping leaves...lots of fun.

These leaves do a wonderful job of nourishing everything and beautifying the world - maybe tomorrow will be better.

But it doesn't matter. The important thing is that during the whole process, it did not force itself to be placed on high expectations, nor was it ashamed of the meager amount of leaves. It remained unknown, took its time, and worked hard at its own pace and in the way it liked.

, persevered and finally completed his mission.

This is what I really envy.

A drizzle fell in the lush courtyard. It was as if the door was locked and no waves could be seen. It seemed as if the dome reappeared and the tower rose, as if the majesty was seen in an instant, so Changhong's thoughts were so full of vitality.

Hope is bitter. The dry sky and dry earth are like standing on the Naihe Bridge, holding a bowl of Mengpo soup and standing on the Sansheng Stone.

The saddest thing is that the fallen leaves are flying, the thoughts are hard to send, the soul is dissipated, wandering in dreams, forgetting everything.

Climbing to the top, the white tower stands tall, as if the mast is guiding me, and my heart is swaying. The clouds in the dream suddenly become more solemn, just like in a dream, a beautiful dream has come true.

The bright side of fallen leaves is written into the vicissitudes of the world. Who can lead my dreams with me and listen to the falling sounds.

Painting a pavilion, dreaming of soft lovesickness in the river, dreaming of dewdrops, endless lovesickness. As if the branches are greedy for dew, lined up,

The mandarin ducks flying in the sky are really dreaming of flying, but freedom belongs to them.

A wisp of lovesickness, a wisp of a dream, a dream at dusk. It seems crystal clear, with a thousand years of gorgeous beauty, and like a dewdrop fairy descending to earth, incomparably beautiful.

The leaves are like flying birds, the dewdrops are rolling, the mountains and mountains are covered with leaves, there is only sadness.

Be proud and present beautifully.

After many years of cold and heat, thousands of years. The hardships finally led to a lonely heart, hazy and thoughtful. I painted all the twists and turns of ancient paintings, missed the lovesickness of Qiongya, and dreamed of dewdrops hanging in the sky. It was so beautiful.

I can't understand lovesickness, I can't understand the end of the world.
Chapter completed!