Creek drips water

The North Wind stayed on the north bank of the small river. The North Wind was about to cross the river and reached the South Bank. It was blown back by the wind from the South Bank. Xiaohe should be kind to the south wind, and show a little coldness to the north wind. Throughout the winter, the river was covered with a layer of armor-like ice. The North Wind swept the villages and fields like a sword, and sometimes it blew freezing rain and snowflakes, which made the river cold through the heart. After all, the river could not be frozen. It arrived in spring with freezing rain and Canxue in its arms. Xiaohe hated the north wind because a group of egrets pecked the ice with sharp beaks at dusk in winter, and there was no fish pecked. The egrets flew to the sky whining, and their wings struggled to beat the North Wind and disappeared in the twilight. The river didn’t know how far the white birds could fly and whether they could spend the cold night. Xiaohe still cares about that group of egrets. It was always the warm spring glow from the south wind, the river melted with ice, and the fish were like happy songs, rippling the ripples of musical notes on the green water. The south wind to the river is like a bow touching the glittering silver strings. The south wind blew across the river to the north bank, with the breath of the river. The leaves of the big leaf poplar fluctuated like spray. The Moo of the black water sounded like thunder exploding beside the haystack. The gray magpie was frightened, arrows are generally shot into the air from the back of cattle. I know that the South Wind likes to go to the north bank of the river in this way. The wind blows the grass stack, and the black water thinks that whoever fights with it for the forage, then suddenly makes a roar. After a while, the South Wind will go back along the original road to rest in the willow forest on the south bank of the river. In the farmland by the river, the wind and rain blows on my face all the year round. I am destined to live with the river around me in this life. In the womb, It surrounds me like the umbilical cord that makes me breathe. I came to this world and grew up day by day, eating soybeans and rice irrigated by the river. When I understood the meaning of rice and water, people and rivers, I stood by the river, looking at the river flowing from the dark green mountain like cotton thread, it was so quiet, distant and long. My eyes are always so wet. I am a leisurely person, bending his waist to sow rice and grass in the rice field along the river. The farmland is pure. My Yun straw knife scraped weeds at the root of the green grass. The water was very turbid by my moving feet and the Yun straw knife moving back and forth. In the turbid water, the weeds appeared white roots. The river is tolerant, which not only moistens the grass, but also nurtures weeds in the field. Between the grass and weeds, I can only care for the grass and destroy the weeds. Because. It is too hard to cultivate a green seedling into a rice with ears. A golden millet is almost the freehand brushwork of a drop of blood and sweat. I was in the field of sunrise and sunset, holding a sharp straw blade, doing the work of cutting the grass to the root. However, the grass is still as luxuriant as before. The south wind blows the village on the north bank of the river. The village girl’s hair is as smooth as the south wind, the river is as clear as the south wind, and a window with yellow paper paste makes a sound of table tennis in the wind. A pair of kindly and melancholy eyes looked at the river through the window hole. It was my old grandmother who lit a wisp of smoke to call me home. The smoke from the kitchen was very light and blue, just like the flowing river, with a cloud floating over the river. The smoke from the kitchen faded away from the river, and the sunlight emitted dazzling light on the river waves, several waterbirds were chasing and playing among wild rhombus. What I saw was only these. I couldn’t tell whether I was bored or helpless. Sometimes, I gave a roar to the wild grass, and the grass quietly turned green without any response. Only the Morning Glory beside the ridge quietly looked around at me. On a snowy morning, I went up the river with my Scyles and hemp ropes and villagers to cut firewood in dozens of miles of mountains. The way into the mountain is like a small river winding, the peaks turn around, my eyes are pulled by the river, and the sound of feet is twined by the sound of running water. A group of people were walking silently with Scyles hanging on one end of the pole. The cold light of the blade was taken away by running water. Straw shoes stepped on the grass and withered leaves on the gravel and marched towards a certain point far away from the village, the village was far away, and the barking of dogs was far away. The Haystack by the river looked back like a small dome of straw hat. When I bypassed the river bend, everything in the village disappeared, the river took me to a strange place. The River led me into the mountain. The intersection of mountain passes is the branch of several rivers, and a broad river presents majestic momentum in the steep mountains. For me, I have no intention to find the source of a small river when entering the mountain. I watched the first line of water flowing to my village, filled with gratitude for the river. Like (prose editor: Jiangnan wind) change the way to continue to stay with this city I went out at 6 o’clock in the morning and came back at almost 8 o’clock in the evening. 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