The evening rain can only wet the hair, the air filled with the September Osmanthus fragrance. Small village children in the yard run, hawking fruit hawkers, holding the children home husband and wife, wearing a raincoat of peasant workers as if created a lively, lonely, beautiful.
The old book of the county seat seems to have enveloped a layer of time to buy a "rouge old", a "trivial", yellowing, are the taste of the times. Open to see, Circle Dot Point, the text of the comment is very beautiful. With the taste of old people. About 32 friends night to hear the rain.
The night on the river is a bit charming, the light is staggered and the rain is intermittent. thin and continuous, continuous thin. The hostess of the tea-pipe, was a Susan man. Hemp clothes, black short hair, a smile, always with a bit of shyness and indifferent. The melody of the square music passing by midnight circled in the sky. A group of people rotate, jump, dance in the center. As if in this shy night, all are reduced to the background, followed by the rhythm here, fusion, fusion. I don't know, the rain hit the tip of the hair wet. I don't know, time jumped on the shoulder. Days such as the Dutch wind, with a damp breath, restrained reality. Without the slightest ethereal and movement. Know how to enjoy the people, most willing to do Lotus perched on the Dragonfly, on the Lotus to absorb nutrients, rest correction. Under the load, there are frogs, the dot, ripples circle, these are the accompaniment of the years.
Cui color and old smoke