Listening to the wind blowing through the bamboo forest, the rustling sound overflows the bottom of my heart, and the natural Sanskrit washes the heart disturbed by dust. The so-called "stealing half a day" is probably the case.
A quiet bamboo stands proudly in the deep valley, with notes flying with the wind, a restless heart and a quiet mountain spring flowing through the glitz of generations! The fragrance of the earth lingers on the nose, close your eyes slightly and indulge in this sunny bamboo forest. Thoughts refuse to wait and quietly load into dreams. Walking in the bamboo forest, listening to a few crickets chirping and whispering, clusters of sunshine disappear and leak into the world.
An old house, far away from the hustle and bustle of the town, highlights the quietness of the farmhouse. But the taste of home will never change, which is exactly where the old people don't want to leave. The yard in front of the house will never change its taste, in order to leave memories for those who are looking for home.
Walking into this small courtyard at a brisk pace, there are wisps of smoke floating on the roof of the blue tile, and a pepper tree in the gap between the steps reflects grandma's WeChat face. "Take a picture of those vegetables in my yard. It's really nice." Grandma hummed a ditty, and that kind of happiness can be summed up in one word-sweetness.
Talking with grandma in the yard is a different kind of leisure. The small courtyard is lush and attractive, and it is a vegetable garden for rural old people to recuperate. The front room of the house is full of all kinds of vegetables, and you can taste all kinds of vegetables without going out, which is also a landscape in the countryside.
Autumn has arrived, full of joy and comfort of harvest, wandering in the embrace of nature, filled with respect for hard work and simplicity. Look at the chubby pumpkin on the shelf, smell the rough fragrance, and harvest beautiful fruits in the autumn world. Nothing will deprive you of your appreciation, and the joy of maturity will always sprout in your heart.
Grasping the harvest of maturity, these old talents are the most authentic poets. Instead of writing with a pen, these poets bent down and put their pens in the soil to let them plant young crops step by step. The fruits and vegetables in the yard are like the thin body of the old man, which can only be understood by the vast land.
Autumn is ripe, and grandma's face is ripe. Laughter and sighs ... filled the farmyard deep in the bamboo forest. Like complex thoughts, it is life, ups and downs, running around in the years.
Looking at the vines on the dead wood, people will think: "The wind is still and the flowers hang down at night, and time inexplicably urges the bald head, sighing idly, and sorrow and joy are endless."