Lyric Prose of Walking 1

On a humid sky, the stars were covered, and the slightest drizzle whispered in the ears, mixed with sighs and melancholy, and the crowd gradually dwindled. , no one wants to go back to the home full of warmth and laughter immediately. The thoughts are reflected from the eyes, and it only takes a moment to understand things. The puddles everywhere are stepped on by cheerful children and splashed up.

It was originally a warm spring, but because of this small episode, it brought a sweet and moist smell. Holding an umbrella and looking at the continuous rain, it was The broken thoughts flowed down the umbrella support, and the eight thin water columns cooperated with each other in the air, buzzing with each other, and smashed into the ground as a whole, shattered to pieces and then reassembled, continuing towards its dream and its end point. Seep out.

I had no direction and was temporarily lost on the land made of steel and concrete. After wandering for a moment, I decided to wander towards the place where white and black meet, which is where many legends and stories come from. At the beginning, people have given too many fantasies about the place, which is the hills covered with green grass and blooming flowers. At the highest position, there is a big tree that has been here for some time, sitting on the rough bark, Use your nose to smell the mixed smell of rain, soil and trees, let the big raindrops fall on my body, feel this wonderful touch with your body, and become one with nature. Perhaps this is the true nature of human beings of authenticity.

Looking at the city in the distance, the scattered lights outline her outline. Her figure is looming in the haze, looking so peaceful under the comfort of the night, changing from the fast and passionate mood during the day. Showing the rare implicitness and tenderness of modern women, she touched the face of the sky with her odd-shaped fingertips to build a bridge between her and him, trying to melt the face that had been crying for a long time without smiling with her own kindness.

Continue walking in the forest, looking at the heavy shadows of the trees, the sound of wind and rain, the soft symphony, the uncontrollable dancing of the body, a fake conductor trying to direct this natural ensemble, the light I laughed out loud just thinking about it. Finally, the dark clouds got tired of all this and slowly dissipated, revealing the twinkling stars. Because of the far distance, everything seemed so beautiful. Maybe there was something wrong at this time. Who is telling them their feelings, praying for a response to their small extravagant requests, but unexpectedly, some things are destined to be fruitless. People must learn and get used to giving up, so that they will not be sad and sad about giving up. The joy of life The file will flatten your desires, emotions and character, and finally you will become indifferent and relieved, as eternal as the mountains. However, people will always have a trace of fantasy hidden in the deepest part because of need, just like the icebergs on the sea. Face it with a smile and accept it calmly. Lyrical Prose of Strolling 2

If you just stand on the lawn and express your regret to the fallen flowers, you can't hear the crying moans of the grass. There are many corners in life that we forget. White clouds flow slowly in the clear sky, with no direction, no hope, and no trace of lingering to touch this season. Reason often reminds oneself that one cannot follow the endless emotions to plunder the few impulses in life, nor should one regard the long-destined gathering and separation as an end. While alive, there are constant new worries and old thoughts. Recollection and longing are just a process, and love and hate will not all be included in it. Family, friendship and love, all of these are walking in a subtle way. There is no need for too much reluctance or too much hope. There is no passion that lasts forever. The plain ones are the most real and can withstand the ordinary life. Emotions are ours. Often all complicated things will eventually become plain and simple; when the fish that sneaks away from the bottom of the water can no longer retrieve those complicated memories, the desolate reeds will make circles and ripples in the water, and the light of the water is no longer what it was yesterday. So colorful. Therefore, we must always know how to throw away those trivial things on our life path, forget some unnecessary things, and reorganize our backpacks to make our luggage easier and our journey more enjoyable. An extraordinary life in the ordinary, an ordinary life in the extraordinary.

Remembering and forgetting are both real life experiences. Happiness and pain are not important. I just want to experience more and more, and I don’t want to let life go too thin. Only then did I realize that remembering is as important as forgetting, and that my thoughts only belong to myself. Lyrical Prose of Walking 3

On a sunny day, the flowers bloomed particularly beautifully; the grass grew particularly green; and the big trees were in great spirits. The sunshine is very selfless, spreading all over the earth.

The mother duck was so excited when she saw these beautiful scenery, she decided to take her ducklings to walk on the streets of Vancouver and enjoy sunbathing.

"Quack, quack, quack---quack..." The ducklings screamed happily, as if they were singing a beautiful song. They danced the waggle and walked happily.

"Quack-------" the mother duck called out warily because she saw a sewer opening without a cover. It used its thick big wings to protect the ducklings, for fear that any duckling would fall in. But two little ducks were chatting animatedly and accidentally fell in. "Quack quack..." The little duck that fell into the sewer asked for help from the mother duck on the shore, and kept pushing the sewage with its red duck paws.

At this critical moment, Mother Duck remained calm, looked around, and hurriedly ran to the nearby patrol lounge.

When she saw the patrolman, the mother duck started to flutter, flapping her big gray feather wings from time to time, and making a "quacking" sound, as if she was telling what happened. But the patrolman didn't understand what the mother duck was doing. He kept scratching the back of his head with his hand and grinning, as if he was seriously thinking about what it meant. Seeing that the patrolman was still confused, Mother Duck came to force him. It bit the patrolman's trousers with its flat mouth and pulled it in the direction of the accident with all its strength. The patrol officer didn't understand and didn't respond. So, the mother duck changed her approach. She came behind the patrolman and nudged the patrolman with her plush head. Now, the patrolman seemed to understand something and followed Mother Duck to the sewer entrance.

The mother duck stuck her head into the sewer opening and screamed inside, signaling to the patrolman that her baby was inside and comforting the panicked ducklings.

The patrolman squatted down, stuck his head into the sewer, and shined a flashlight into it. I saw two poor little ducks swimming forward desperately, trying not to be washed away by the sewage. "Oh------that's it!" the patrolman suddenly realized. He quickly lay down, rolled up his sleeves, reached into the sewer, and groped around. Suddenly, he touched a furry little head, quickly scratched it, and successfully found a little duckling. The patrolman continued fishing, and within a few minutes, the patrolman rescued another duckling that had lost its footing and fallen into the sewer.

"Quack, quack, quack, quack." The mother duck and the ducklings kept shouting, as if they were thanking the patrolman. Then he continued walking slowly. When they passed by the road, the cars on the road stopped. They did not keep honking their horns, and were not impatient at all, but quietly waited for the naive ducks to pass by...

... The lyricism of strolling Prose 4

After the azure misty rain, the evening breeze comes to embroider. Wandering in the sea of ??clouds that are as elegant as ink, as smooth as silk, and as picturesque as a poem, your thoughts will flow gracefully, lingering and ethereal.

It seems that the solitary cloud after the rain must have been written by Guanxiu of the Tang Dynasty. It will be more fearful of submission than the egret, and it is not as good as the remaining snow. The breeze leads it farther away, and it is so bright and lonely. After the rain, the mist scattered happily on the horizon, washed spotless. Although it doesn't have the fairy charm of purple air coming from the east, it does have some noble and majestic flavor with an extremely cool breeze. It would be fine if you just ignore it, but if you can't stand it being so aloof and arrogant, and it makes the atmosphere tense, you might as well step on the willow smoke and reminisce about the previous rain, and the beads on the tree are about to fall, and they will definitely disappear immediately. Go out and have fun. Unexpectedly, the wind from the pond carried a wisp of fresh lotus fragrance. It is true that there is no way out despite the mountains and rivers, and there is another village with dark flowers and bright flowers. At this moment, I will step on my steps, passing by the clusters of pitiful green grass, and walk over. Looking at the endless green lotus leaves that reach the sky, it seems that my hard work in the mud is worth it. Who would have thought that Wan Yun could be so frivolous and a prodigal! Shamelessly squeezing in the water, the lotus flowers bowed their heads shyly. Fortunately, the water surface was wide enough, and a fragrant wind blew up from the empty nest and drove it away in all directions. Soon his face was covered by a dark curtain, and the lights scattered under the eaves floated into the clouds.

It’s a pity that on such a beautiful night, after several glasses of wine, there is still no trace of leisure. As if walking in the wind and rain, my steps became heavier and heavier. Where will you wake up tonight? The dawn wind and the waning moon on the willow bank. Bathed in the inky night sky, the gray clouds above our heads became increasingly misty. It is extremely bold to taste wine in single clothes, but when you encounter the cold smoke rising in the lingering clouds, it is like eating a few ice dates in the cold winter.

Smelling the clouds and smoke blowing in the wind, one can't help but think of the smell of cooked incense from the old campfires. The moon is getting fuller and the evening clouds are drifting everywhere. I also feel that the home is nice, the water is sweet, the vegetables are fragrant, and the people are warm. Just hearing a wisp of local accent instantly ignited the frivolity of youth. Sweeping away all the melancholy, I immediately felt energetic and energetic.

My thoughts are riding on the breeze, squinting my eyes coolly, walking in the blue-gray clouds, as if I am in the poetic late Song Dynasty. I think of the simple, elegant and quiet jacket under the tree, the breeze blowing under the armpits, and the suave and graceful look that cannot be concealed by the jacket. At this time, a thin woman came into the wind, and in her lips she said something like "Who in the clouds has sent me a brocade book," "When the word "Yan" comes back, the moon will be full on the west tower. All the madness suddenly subsided a lot. Unexpectedly, who would avoid her lovesickness from afar if he wasn't a passionate person? Lyrical Prose of Wandering 5

Night, speechless

The hazy sky covers everything, and the sky is like night. In this quiet night... I turned on the desk lamp, and the dense light stung my eyes. In an instant, the room was filled with this green light. Staring at the lamp, my eyes were so bright. Maybe this light can heal my scarred heart! Quiet, so quiet! This book, this lamp, this room. Perhaps the "rustling" sound of writing broke this lonely harmony. Oh! The noisy streets are bustling with traffic, and the days pass quietly. I don’t know how many people have paid attention to it. This is reincarnation, phoenix nirvana,...

No matter how you treat it, it still quietly goes away, and success or failure turns to nothing! Yesterday has escaped. Maybe its long tail is disturbing your thoughts, but have you noticed that the shadow on the ground is quietly getting longer? Oh! See it! I didn't want it to grow, so I chased it angrily and beat it... But it still failed, and finally it disappeared, oh! Is this just a day? At night, I tried hard to find the shadow, "Hey! Come out quickly!..." "Hey..." I prolonged my voice, and it just went away, quietly...a nightmare, a terrible thing. It wasted my time looking for shadows... Finally, they all left, all left. When the dawn lifted the veil of the night one by one, I accidentally caught a glimpse of the shadow accompanying me, but it did not leave me. However, it still failed to live up to expectations, growing slowly and quietly...

Suddenly, I understood. Although the shadow will change, I am its master after all, and it is very loyal. However, it just grows longer than expected, quietly... Oh! It seems that the black mass caused by the sunlight reflects your movements unconsciously! In this case, Shadow can be regarded as a mirror of success. In this way, it is very impressive, but the white jade is slightly flawed. Yesterday, the shadow confirmed him. Although he has left, he will still tell me what kind of shadow will look good tomorrow and what actions I should take. Eyes, it hurts. Damn lights. I lowered my head and found my shadow. "I won't treat you badly!" I smiled, and then I moved my hands, feet, head, and thoughts... "Don't be lazy!" I still smiled.

Turn off the light, where is the shadow? ..."Don't leave me..." Oh, the sky is clearing, and the shadow has reached the ground. Haha, lovely shadow, don’t leave me... Cold war, trembling. Light, hazy. Eyes are so beautiful. My hands are so cold. Was it that desk lamp that had been listening to what I was saying just now? On a cloudy day - on a sunny day, I look at the shadow, it grows unyieldingly, I love it...

Lovely shadow, lovely everything. Lyrical Prose of Walking 6

It was in a world covered in silver, I was walking aimlessly alone...

I didn’t know where I was going, Just walking quietly like that. Snow-white elves were flying in the sky, landing gently on my shoulders, as if greeting those who walked in this silver world like me. Then quietly disappeared into the sea of ??people...

I walked very slowly, but stopped in a subtle picture: a middle-aged woman carrying large and small bags, and his My daughter and I were waiting for the bus together on the roadside. When the woman saw the lively child beside her, she suddenly thought of something. She put down the things in her hands, raised her hand and gently wiped away the snow covering the child's head, and then lifted the zipper of the child's clothes.

When I saw this scene, although it didn’t happen to me, I felt so warm in my heart. A sour feeling came to my heart.

The snow in the sky is falling more and more heavily, decorating the whole world. The snow is so pure and white.

I walked forward slowly by myself, and the emotions in my heart suddenly surged into my heart. I raised my head at an angle of 45° and looked at the snowflakes flying in the sky, dancing happily. Suddenly a snowflake fell into my eyes. As soon as I closed my eyes, I had never felt so cool, and the cold snowflakes suddenly chilled me to my bones. I sighed in my heart: How could a small ice flower have such a powerful power?

I rubbed my eyes and found another warm scene: an old man sweeping the street wearing a pair of cotton gloves, admirable work clothes, and holding a shabby broom. Conscientiously sweeping the "hills" piled up on the roadside. While sweeping across a piece of grass, I saw him pause for a moment, then he bent down and picked up a grass that had been trampled down, then smiled at him and left.

My body is so cold standing aside, but I am so warm inside...

The snow has stopped, and the exposed sunlight is so dazzling. Looking up at the blue clouds in the sky, the deep emotions in my heart seemed to have cleared up after the rain, and I straightened my clothes and walked forward. Lyrical Prose of Wandering 7

Sometimes, people fall in love with a certain place without any prior agreement or deliberate purpose. It is purely an accident. However, even these accidents must be in one place. In the journey of human life, we leave behind a series of memories of our own. It was by chance that I walked into the ancient city of Qianzhou - this ancient city with its rich Tujia stilted buildings, but it must have left the most real feelings about this ancient town in my travels.

The streets and alleys of the ancient city are paved with bluestone slabs, and bluestone slabs are also stacked layer by layer on both sides to form walls as high as a person. Moss and some green vines leisurely decorate the mottled stone walls, as if decorating the ancient city walls with an ever-green dream. Such streets and alleys do not have the hustle and bustle of city streets, but are just quiet and primitive. Walking here, people feel like they have entered a dreamland shrouded in light mist. The streets and alleys lead to the footsteps, and the eyes flow with the footsteps. However, I always want the footsteps to flow slower, slower, lighter, and further. It's lighter, as if he doesn't want to go out or disturb the green dream of the ancient city. Every time I turn a corner, I can't wait to see what is around the corner. Maybe it's a smiling Miao girl carrying a flower basket and wearing a garland, or maybe it's a Miao girl holding an umbrella. My brother's back is drifting away, maybe it's a wooden door ajar standing quietly by the road, maybe it's a long stone road extending away like a dream... No matter what it is, it always carries the freshness and simplicity unique to the ancient city. , poetic and picturesque.

The rain seems to particularly like to visit the stone streets and alleys of the ancient city. The crackling raindrops are like warm applause to welcome me, a visitor from afar. After the rain falls, the wet stone road glows with silvery light in the sun, which is both real and illusory. What is real is the rainy alley in front of you, and what is imaginary is the rainy alley described by Dai Wangshu. Although no one is looking after me, people do not feel lonely when walking in such a real rainy alley. Perhaps this silvery stone road and this moss-covered stone wall are the best companionship for people at this moment. Walking in this bluestone rain alley, people feel as if they are walking on their own souls. Indeed, people need such a clean, simple, quiet and poetic soul.

Here, nestled next to the bluestone road is the Diaojiaolou. The streets and alleys are like silk threads connecting the stilted buildings to this green land. Walking into the Diaojiaolou, a peaceful atmosphere fills the air. The red lanterns and golden corn strings hanging on the beams glow with enthusiasm, expressing the people of the ancient city's simplest and most enthusiastic expectations for life. Drinking a ladle of water from the ancient city is sweet, and tasting wine from the ancient city is mellow. Stepping on the wooden stairs of the stilted building, I always want to listen to the most beautiful folk songs to my brother in the ancient city. But how many tempting secrets are hidden in the attics of the ancient city, and they have become the eternal knot in the dreams of many brothers and sisters!

No matter how the stone road extends, maybe she will pass through the moonlight of the lotus pond, but it will eventually lead to the river, as if it is a destiny or a destination. Going down the stone steps by the river, a fairyland suddenly appears in front of you. There was no woman washing clothes, but the peach blossoms on the riverside bloomed more beautifully after being washed by raindrops. Jumping across the stone pier, a layer of green smoke slowly rose, looming. Under the big banyan tree, the fishermen rocked their boats, sang their folk songs, spread their fishing nets, and caught their fish leisurely.

The Iron Lock Bridge seems to be a gorgeous turn from the quaint bluestone roads on both sides of the river to the riverside. The bridge is covered with iron locks with various handwritings engraved on them. The words of love in her heart, the promises she made... She uses the clear water as a mirror and grooms herself carefully every day. Finally, the boat became emotional. It gently slid into her reflection and rowed into her heart, seemingly never wanting to come out again.

Standing by the Rongjiang River, looking at all this, I feel that one day I will become the A-mei in my dream, waking up from the morning mist every day, walking on the cool bluestone road, walking through the After passing the beautiful scenery of the lotus pond, I came to the riverside, holding my favorite SLR and my beloved brother. Enjoy our selfie photos. Or with my long hair flowing freely, walking hand in hand by the river, listening to your poems and appreciating my words. I thought: What a beautiful circle that is. Lyrical Prose of Strolling 8

Today is another day when the rain makes the road muddy. The pomegranates that bloomed a few days ago have begun to wither one after another. They are silent in the rain, but the leaves are even greener, making the originally fiery red pomegranate flowers More red. Walking quietly on campus, holding a light blue umbrella, without thinking about anything, just the silence full of vitality is intoxicating.

The yellow horn trees in the parking lot are like calm wise men, meditating there. The leaves washed by the rain are their green thoughts flowing quietly. I used to often pass by them. They were either dancing with their green skirts in the breeze, or flashing with charming brilliance in the sun. I just regarded them as an ordinary beauty, not like other flowers and plants. What a difference. Today, they tell me in silent language and attract me with their green thoughts. I read these wise words quietly and gradually understand that only if I am strong enough can I dedicate a green tree and a piece of shade.

Say goodbye to the yellow horn tree and continue walking along the playground, listening to the wonderful sound of rain hitting the umbrella, watching the trickle on the edge of the umbrella, and the beautiful arcs drawn in the breeze. , my heart gradually softens, and my tired heart is slowly relaxing. I don’t have to think about preparing lessons, helping each other, marking endless homework and test papers, or even thinking about safety. , although safety is a sharp knife hanging high above your head. I only care about the leisurely moment of walking in the rain in front of me.

On both sides of the entrance to the West Teaching Building are two rows of wintersweet, which are particularly green in the rain. Raindrops dripped on the green leaves, with a loud bang, and the splashing water gathered into water flow, pouring into the rooted land, nourishing their roots. They gathered strength and experienced the warmth of spring, the heat of summer, and the bleakness of autumn. In the cold winter, when people were almost desperate, they bloomed with pale yellow flowers, giving people hope with their refreshing fragrance. What is admirable is that even if their flowers wither, they refuse to fall off the branches, do not want to be scattered into mud and crushed into dust, and would rather die with the branches holding their fragrance. This kind of integrity has defeated many literati. But I also agree with another attitude towards life and death: step down from the noble branches and turn into spring mud to protect the flowers. The touching Chinese figure He Yue, who was only twelve years old, happily donated all her organs when her life came to an end. She is a different kind of plum blossom. In the cold winter of morality, she blooms beautifully and withers beautifully. She leaves the branches and falls into the embrace of the earth, but leaves an everlasting fragrance. Perhaps she will always bloom in people's hearts and never wither.

Walking into the teaching building, two rows of ginkgo trees stood quietly in the rain. Although they are not tall enough, they stand tall and proud, swaying beautiful leaves like a round fan with a classical charm, and stretch hard. I couldn't help but stop, and I carefully read each of their leaves, so fresh and green, so green and fresh, with the spirit of stretching. I fell deeply into thought. I gradually understood that these ginkgoes have a unique and enterprising spirit. It is this spirit that makes every leaf and branch actively stretch. At this time, the sound of morning reading can be heard all the time. My eyes lit up. Aren’t all the students standing under these tall ginkgo trees in front of me? Although they are not tall enough and even a little immature, they have the same enterprising spirit as the ginkgo trees. They will eventually grow into towering trees and contribute to the society a green tree and a shady ground.

The sound of morning reading lingered in my ears, like the most beautiful singing. I walked into the office with this beautiful singing. The rain is still falling and the road is still muddy, but my heart has cleared up and the sunshine has shined into my heart, dispersing the long-standing gloom.

Lyrical Prose of Walking 9

Outside the window, it started to rain lightly.

In summer, in the rainy Jiangnan, you can often hear the clear and refreshing sound of rain. Sit quietly alone, feel the coolness brought by the rain coming through the cracks in the window, appreciate the hazy rain, and listen to the sounds of nature.

Through the window, the gloomy sky seemed to be crying softly. A slight drizzle like cow hair drifted in with the wind, lightly brushing the hair on my forehead. The water droplets slid down my cheeks like a baby, caressing my shoulders gently. Close your eyes and let your thoughts wander around with the rain outside the window. An idea rushed out - go out for a walk.

Hold up a simple and elegant umbrella and stroll in the lingering drizzle without any restrictions. The breeze blows, the light rain is dense and soft, and the hair flies with the wind, like countless happy elves showing off their vigorous lives. The sky is misty and misty, which is the artistic conception of a sentence: flying flowers are as light as dreams, and the boundless rain is as thin as sorrow.

The leaves have been brushed away from the usual dust, the road has been washed away with the vicissitudes of time, and even the ancient slate house beside the road stands silently in the rain, quietly, as if it is also carefully savoring This reserve of rain, the art of rain. I have loved rain since I was a child, whether it is heavy rain or light rain. I often feel that rain is the most ethereal water in the world.

In this dense water vapor, my thoughts are flying——

She is a cold child with her own unique beauty. And I think, for her, it may be more lonely. Being away from the sun is her luck and her sorrow. If it weren't for this, she wouldn't be so beautiful, but she wouldn't be so lonely either. She is so noble, cold, and even a little arrogant, but I believe she is pure and clear, so she can't stand the so-called human sophistication in the world of mortals, so she coldly avoids, escapes, and stays away. Only give a cleansed and pure heart to those who know how to appreciate it.

Yu is also handsome, although she hides her beauty. Not many people can discover and understand.

Layman Li Yian should be counted as one. "The parasol trees are drizzling more and more, and the rain is drizzling at dusk." In her writing, the rain conveys the sadness in her heart. Rain is also sentimental!

Li Shangyin also loves rain. He admired the beautiful scenery of "Bashan's night rain fills the autumn pond", and also listened to the bits of rain, because he knew how to "leave the remaining lotuses to listen to the sound of rain."

Tang Wan, who is extremely talented and intelligent, looks so sad in her eyes. Facing her former lover's heart-wrenching "The Hairpin-headed Phoenix", she wrote with infinite melancholy: "The world is thin and human nature is evil. When the rain comes at dusk, flowers tend to fall."

Wang Wei saw The rain is peaceful and poetic. "After the new rain in the empty mountains, the weather is late and autumn comes. The bright moon shines among the pines, and the clear spring flows up the rocks." This is a fresh, elegant and natural freehand painting, which makes people fascinated.

The rain is still pouring down, and the small pools on the bluestone are still glowing in circles. Wandering on the ancient bluestone slabs, feeling the pure tranquility brought by the rain, getting close to the rain, understanding the rain, and making the heart as clear and transparent as the rain, isn't it a blessing?

In the distance, a wisp of smoke rises slowly, scatters in the air, blurs the vision, blends with the drizzle, and transforms into an ink painting... Lyrical prose of strolling 10

Qing Lingling water and blue sky. In front of the mountain, smoke drifts from cooking stoves, and a simple wooden bridge bridges the river. The sound of the mallet is loud, the laughter is sweet, and the fish and shrimps are touched with bare feet. There were farmers walking by with their trousers rolled up and hoeing, and ducks and geese chasing each other.

This is a memory of my childhood, and this is the kindest face in my hometown. How many times have I dreamed of returning to my hometown, to the river that gave me joy.

Today, standing by this river, I feel very emotional.

Both sides of the river were made of cold cement, and the river was full of green and black algae. The water was not flowing, but there were fish jumping out of the water from time to time. I took a deep breath and secretly exclaimed that the natural environment had been ruined to such an extent.

The purpose of my coming here is to exercise. According to the doctor's advice, I should walk quickly. So, a quick walk along the embankment.

Gradually, what I saw along the way dispelled my stubborn view of the river.

Several concrete steps lead directly to the river. In the early morning, the sound of a wooden hammer was heard. It has been a long time since the last time. Women in twos and threes were bending down and squatting down (without me, the girl in clothes). There were bamboo baskets and washbasins next to them.

They were talking and laughing, and the water in front of them was so pure that people could be seen.

In the middle of the river, a canoe drifted up, and a fisherman held a long pole (a special pole with an iron hook on the other end) and walked slowly. Oh, it's closing the net. He stopped from time to time, pulled out the fishing net spread in the water, looked at it carefully, seemed uneasy, picked it up, put it down, and picked it up again. I couldn’t tell whether the face covered by the sun hat was written with disappointment or joy.

After a while, another boat floated up. The fisherman got out of a cage. There were floating mineral water bottles on the water surface as marks. He only had to row to the mark and advance to the cage. The fisherman's wife came to greet her husband.

"How is it?"

The wife asked softly, with happiness on her face.

"Not bad."

The husband seemed calm, but his excitement could not be concealed.

I walked closer and took a closer look. It was really good. Two or three-inch long fish were jumping in the basin.

So, the wife sent the fish to the morning market, and the husband continued fishing.

The boat that drifted over this time was electric. At first glance, you could tell it was a sanitation worker. He stretched out his pennies. In front of the pennies was a barbed wire fence. Click left, click right, fishing in the water.

Is it the algae and moss that fills the river? After looking at it for a while, I realized that it wasn't.

Then, what is his purpose for doing this?

I wanted to catch up and ask, but I was afraid of disturbing others, so I thought about salvaging the obstacles alone. Well, yes, I still think my opinion is right.

A pair of gray-haired old men walked towards each other, chatting as they walked. There was an old man with a seriously crooked mouth, who was bending down by the embankment. If you looked casually, you could touch him with his folded hands. Where is the ground?

"Not bad, not bad!"

I admired softly.

He smiled at me, his mouth crooked even more.

There was no noise or busy traffic. A few egrets flew over the water and stopped on the reeds, which rose and fell together.

The oleanders are in full bloom, red as rosy clouds and as white as snow. Weeping willows love to comb their long hair with their heads down facing the rising sun. I was pleasantly surprised to find that there are many fruit trees in front of people's houses here. There are pomegranates, grapes hanging on the branches, and dates all over the branches, not many of which are red. Where's the greedy kid? Why don't even the magpies, crows and sparrows come to eat?

Seeing this, I remembered how I used to eat secretly when I was a child and secretly climbed up the wooden building of my husband’s house to pick dates, and I felt happy. I couldn't help but touch my forehead to see the evil consequences of eating secretly - marks.

There are corn and potatoes in the fields inside the embankment. A middle-aged couple is busy here, one carrying water and the other watering. I feel at home here, as if I'm back in my little village.

Although this small town belongs to Hangzhou City, it is also a good place to live with beautiful mountains and clear waters. It is surrounded by low rolling mountains and lush trees. Looking up, the morning glow dyed the sky on the opposite side red. My mood suddenly improved a lot. I walked faster and whistled briskly.