Lake of night

There is always a trace of suspense in the lake at night, with the dim light. The street lamp, like an oval yellow broad bean, hangs alone in the deep air. There were some mottled shadows floating under the light, just like a group of butterflies in the dark night, which were fluttering and turning without a moment of separation. The dense fog above the lake water was hazy and scattered. Approaching the street lamp and looking at the mottled shadow, I couldn’t help laughing. It is the night that still remains after the autumn frost, the branches that have not passed away for a long time, and those beautiful guesses dance like ghosts with every breeze. The broken raindrops sprinkled on their wings and backs like dew, which were colorful and moving. It is late at night, and the surroundings are very quiet. The thin mist passed through the dim light, like the solid color Agate which could not be wiped clean. Those fluttering elves suddenly stopped swinging together at a certain moment, as if they were stopped by the spell. They listened quietly and listened to those stories pouring down secretly. On that sparse cobblestone road, the rain fell silently, and my steps went through all the time flowing like autumn eve, looking for the lake which used to be as green as summer trees. The rain fell silently on the lake and blended into it, as if the passing years passed away without any trace. The dim light, the silence reflected on this moment, the mottled shadow, the blurred demon, the memory has the beauty of color ghosts, quietly staring at this lonely and cold world. The grandiose light of the city has already been submerged in the lonely silence. Raise your palm and relax the bondage and stumbling of life; Lower the back of your hand and keep silent about the past. The sealed past is like broken paper scraps, covering the face of the lake. Ripples and folds, knowing the melancholy of my eyes and the disturbance of this life. The breeze, the wane Moon, and the dust of the past years are scattered between the fingers. The deep lake water was dreaming about each other through the warm atmosphere, but the people across the bank were just like yesterday. The thoughts wandering on the edge were like a blooming opium poppy, mysterious and charming, which made people want to get closer, but they were afraid to get closer. However, just between the desire to stop, they had already been poisoned by memories. A corner of black ink was streamed across the pale paper. The broken beauty spread on the rice paper, tearing in the memory, retaining a touch of color of life and death. The wind blows at night, thousands of lights come to an end, and the wandering time is full of colorful desolation and gradually desolation, which is like a dream. They are all night-returning people in lonely cities. Everyone is like a symbol of loneliness, standing on the open platform, watching the people around them come and go, interlaced and separated again. Meeting, with the alternation of seasons, it has become a color that cannot be returned, only indifferent. Youth is like a handpiece between fingers, shining on each other’s eyes, overlooking the flowers on the ground. On the dark blue lake, I said goodbye to the light of broad beans and left slowly. It was far away. The thin air was still full of faint yellow light, bypassing my clothes corner from the direction behind, the boundless mist flew in. Like (prose editor: Jiangnan wind) the snow in spring Spring elimination snow, multi-the yao nian, unspoken. Reading from afar, it is just above that snowfield. The snow is really beautiful, after all it is spring… Waiting Waiting is a kind of persistence, sticking to a certain belief and never giving up. Maybe because of a certain commitment, or because of a certain… Be good at listening to different voices and opinions On October 6th, I published a travel essay: “beautiful autumn scenery”, which was obtained by many literary websites… Read The Bridges of Madison County “When the white moth spreads its wings, you can come to me at any time”. I think, if I am a man, be accepted… From today on, I want to be happy I read “the biography of Hulan River” long time ago, and I remember that I was really in a heavy mood for a long time. Which characters caused me… Sick time I sneezed one after another these days. I said someone was reading me and others said I was sick. Finally, the doctor also said I was…