Ink landscape words life

Bamboo Forest, small Bridge, running water, colorful peach blossom, endless landscape, misty rain, slightly tipsy poetry. On the steps of the Bluestone, I placed myself in the valley with an oiled paper umbrella. Bathing in the delight of the waterfall, feeling the delight of the fragrance, lost in my own ink landscape and stepping into the city that only belongs to me, misty rain, looking at the bright and gentle bloom of the petals on the branches, they washed away the lead in my eyes, moistened my eyebrows and moistened the blue silk on my head. Poem, gently open the door of its Zhu paint, and let me break into its dusty curtain. Looking forward to the flow, the towering green trees reflected the pink dress under the umbrella. Time has already been drunk into sparkling waves, and the romance has nothing to do with the wind and moon. Facing the ink landscape that only belongs to me, I am silent. Isolated from the uproar and flashy of the world, the Green Mountains and Rivers struggled to tell me thousands of words. It gently leaned against the moon and dipped into the stream, turned into spring water, and flowed to the distance. Bypassing the thick hedge and stretching out my pink hands to stop me, it was still the peach and plum with innocent petals. With a sweet smile, I was drawn into the mountain stream by Su Mo when I looked back. Therefore, flowers on the branches are swaying and trembling in response to this spring. In the wind, some fragrant and beautiful words meet the landscape, facing the continuous spring rain, with its beautiful posture, flying over the skirt of ink landscape, wei sighed that the manuscript on the bluestone was searched by me again. In the wind, I set up a thin plum tree, which was slim and graceful, only to insert it into the Dream of Red Mansions one day, reflecting the ink landscape in front of my eyes. The mountain stream has been foggy, and in the moist fragrance, the mountain is empty and the water is quiet. I, holding the oiled paper umbrella, cannot be erased in the manuscript. No matter in the pleats of ink and wash landscape, wisps of dark fragrance were sent to me slowly, and then they were rippling in the spring breeze. The vines under the green tree, because of the fondness for Zhu Qiang, had been drunk to twist up, then climbed down from the high platform, quietly covering the footprints I just left. The tender poem rising in my heart had been published in the wind shyly. It brushed through the hedge and headed towards the high place of the waterfall. Ink dropped into my heart and dipped in the breeze. I wrote to the rain. Light ink life gently floated into the rice paper spread by the painter. 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. From beginning to end, I only welcomed myself with silence; Since I went to college, on weekends… [Original essay] string words Since winter, the sky is dry and the snow is misty. The whole earth is desolate and empty. Whether your mood is like a year, or… Forever military dream Forever military Dream (Ma Xiaochun, Kangle county, Gansu province) memories are like meteors, passing through the unmarked and blurred eyes, and the outline gradually… Spring rain I like spring rain like everything on the Earth. Just after the new year, the sky began to rain. I really like the spring in Jiangnan… Plucked the snowflakes of Dreams (modified) Near the new year, the first snow fell. I was surprised to read a long scroll in the morning, the white one is snow, and the gray one is tree… Self The fashion is transient, and the style is permanent. Things that can shine on others may not be put here. In…