The beauty of my hometown One beautiful evening, I was walking alone on the soft stone path of the farm, admiring the beautiful scenery of the farm.

This kind of beauty is a kind of poetic beauty: the sky is blue and blue, and wisps of light clouds are lingering like smoke.

On the top of the mountain in the west, there is only a trace of crimson sunset, trying its best to pour out the faint afterglow of the gone sunset, full of poetic and picturesque scenery.

This kind of beauty is a soft beauty: on the rooftops and fields in the distance, gentle sunshine is still spreading, bringing infinite comfort.