Autumn is deep and quiet. Sometimes it's empty, like washing, chirping cicadas. Sometimes it's rainy and windy. It's foggy. Sometimes the fireflies are dim, illuminating the setting sail. From time to time, listen to the waves and write down the years. Sometimes I play the piano by the stream and keep time. Long lane corridor bridge, a few tea fragrance, a few moonlight, single shadow horizontal oblique. The long sound of Xiao comes from the river, stretching out the fragrance of Osmanthus in the curved moon, listening to the wind and understanding the rain. Half sail over the weak fishing fire, the starlight in the dim place reflects the sky. Drag the boat and paddle alone. Slowly cut open the water, floc falling into the water, peach fragrance, listening to the other side of the sound, a quiet bass, around the pier green moss covered stairs, into the cool water. Holding the water and drinking, waiting for the silver light of the autumn moon, scattering the ups and downs of the wind and rain. In the stars, I strolled along the winding path in the deep maple forest, hummed the marginal tunes, and tried several routines of stick dancing. Lying alone on a bamboo couch, I dreamed of the rain and frost brought by the storm. Third, he smells of the glaze, and the Wutong of the five is more clear. The morning sun is shining through the clouds, and the sunset is falling West and the moon is shining. Gently push open the window lattice, a bunch of silver squeeze into the desk, according to a volume of poetry. The past, the foldable story, the deep night meditation. Listening to the fireflies singing under the camphor tree, a fallen leaf knows the autumn with the flower shadow, cut into a thick autumn meaning. Looking back, I can see autumn clear and autumn red in the distance. Push the window, the fragrance of Osmanthus in the first courtyard. Make a pot of good tea and drink slowly. Half of it is drunk and half of it is warm. Light years, fragrance around a courtyard of osmanthus. Watching the stars of the day, the night sky, collecting a bunch of flowers in full bloom, for you, for her, for the oncoming guests, and then looking at the table, is already another spring. Spread out Chang Xuan and write for years. An inkstone pool, a moxiangxuan, sits in meditation and looks at poetry. A pool of green lotus is quiet, a boat of strings is pleasant, and a few beads are planted under the window. You can always see and remember that as long as there is a wind, there will always be gentle moonlight, as long as there is a flute, there will always be lingering water, as long as there is love, there will always be people who understand the heart, and the wind will become a poem and rain will fall in love. The dawn is green and the leaves are red. A wisp of multicolor depicts the world, and a drop of dew reflects the true feelings. In the long river of years, with the compassion and kindness of life, each true story is linked, and in a circle of rings, it is shining. Write the time of the world of mortals, and keep the time of life
