Winter rain

The sky was gray, covered by a huge gray-white curtain. Looking up, it looks like a huge white and gray canvas. A few pieces of clouds with various postures that have been dipped in thick ink are flowing quietly on them. The edges and corners are like mountains, the twists and turns are like rivers, and they are like a landscape painting. However, it rained. With the cold wind, raindrops fell on my face, adding a bit of chill. But I also became more sober. Then there was a shiver, wrapped the clothes tightly, and looked around: The house had already closed the doors and windows, but the winter rain fell on the glass of the window bit by bit, as if the tinkling sound could still be heard. Raindrops slide down the glass, leaving Rain marks, like hands made of water, stroking and wiping the dust on the glass on the window. There were many pedestrians on the road, but there was no feeling of bustling. People all lowered their heads and stepped forward to avoid the winter rain! There are still several remaining leaves on the poplar trees on the roadside trembling in the cold wind with raindrops. Was it the cold wind wrapped in rain that could not bear to blow away the remaining leaves, and wanted to leave some memories for poplar trees, so that she could warm herself in winter? Thinking like this, I felt a warm current in my heart. Winter rain is not like spring rain. Although it is also pattering, there is no feeling of diving into the night with the wind and moistening things silently. It is not like the rain in summer, as if it wants to destroy something, or as if it is chasing something. The sky was dyed by the imitation of the Buddha statue, with lightning and strong wind, coming impatiently and hurriedly. It is not like the rain in autumn. The dye is just so-so, dyed the lush forest in the mountain, painted the emerald green in the field. The yellow fields are fine, where we have harvested, while the Yellow Mountain forest seems desolate and smells of death. What does winter rain look like? The withered yellow branches of poplar on the roadside pricked into the gray sky, like an old man full of confusion in his eyes, trying to recall his ever green past. The mountain forest seemed to have not recovered, looking at the leaves covering the ground, it was also trying to recall yesterday’s lush. Winter rain, are you wiping their remaining memories? Raise your head, the sky will still be gray. I want to clear away the clouds and see the sky outside. I want to see the morning glow and sunset, and also want to count the stars. This everlasting eternity, having seen the vicissitudes of the sea, and also experiencing the dry and rotten sea, she must have endless stories and countless memories in her heart. Who will wipe off the dust on her memory window? What is her winter rain? Maybe it was the fire of the overlord of the Western Chu dynasty, which turned the Qin Palace into ashes and the Qin dynasty into dust fluttering in the wind; Maybe it was the rolling water of the Yangtze River, and he had searched out too many stories, too many hero. Those stories and influences all changed into waves along with the river and integrated into the vast ocean of history; Or maybe it was Genghis Khan’s tough cavalry, mighty and vigorous, tornado seems to sweep away the past and erase the old memory. Hundreds of years of Song Dynasty was rolled up and thrown into the deep universe. I lowered my head, and the withered branches of poplar in front of my eyes pricked into the gray sky, but those leaves were gone. Suddenly an inexplicable fear spread in our hearts. Will our history be like this poplar tree? Hurriedly, I looked over: with the water of Yangtze River, the white spray carrying heroes and stories blended into the sea, but turned into a bigger spray, with the majestic galloping in the vast ocean; the dust burnt from the glorious palace of Qin Dynasty turned into fertilizer, which made the tree of history stronger and more luxuriant; song dynasty, which had gone through hundreds of years of wind and rain, became a bright star under the night of history, and achieved eternity with the morning glow and sunset. Along the street, I walked forward quietly. However, at this moment, I am not looking at the gray sky, the poplar branch piercing into the sky. I can’t even feel the chill of cold rain falling on my face with the cold wind. I know that the cold winter rain can only wipe off some dust, and the windows of that house will only become brighter. As for that poplar tree, after losing the last few leaves, there will be a heavy snow covering it and a green dream in the near future. When the spring breeze blows his face in the coming year, he will become taller and more prosperous, just because of the desolate and cool winter rain that was not so popular……

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