Cut a silk time, write a tie old words between the lines, exhibited the influence of the moon breeze territory, including a secluded grove fence daisy love to read in the eyes, the story is read in the past, is a heart sound read in years, a forest is quiet good.

 

Red long, sad blow countless fans eyes the most vulnerable, the most vulnerable sections turned countless heartbroken, the sky was clear, vistas, who recalled phase in the river floor. Who, alone and broken window child, dipped subtle fragrance surplus sleeves, research Indus evening rain, fall thinner than yellow text, Unspoken? Who is autumn sad painted fans, with three shifts of plum blossoms fall flute, heartbroken sound in remembrance in his life? Who, because of the understanding, Phi dressed compassion, because of the well, from dust to open a flower, and a flower from a lifetime of loneliness opened?

 

Gone, those vines grow as sadness, those overlooking almost heartbreaking. But time, quietly left back that Respect poetry, dejected after each line of verse, pouring a fragrance all the way, building a dike on the landscape. Time landscape is carefully brewed jug of wine, a need in the right place right time to open, will mellow full. Yes, for four seasons Evolution of rhythm, a person, often accustomed to that season in the opening of the joy, the arrival of spring flowers, picking their way cautiously, accustomed to getting better and that a prosperous and melodious, Hawthorn moonlight, night according to Maple, and most often can not be ignored is that intoxicating a silence, a blank, or even just a silent pause of rest, a soft music lingering sound wave, because they not only attract, but also in spun, spun like a gurgling brook heart, deeply moved by that hidden in the depths of the years depicting vivid.

 

Silent, the total precipitation in the story, but the aftertaste sublimation precipitate. A life paintings, paintings bears a lot of joy and sorrow ink, dense with a lot of emotions and colors. But not the background, and without end, a landscape that Cheng Cheng life, has all the vicissitudes of the past story, but also a day of light wash flat Zeze, become a touch of heart painted on the field calm, a quiet. Sorrow will eventually melt in the tranquil thoughts to flow into the clear stream, but also will eventually freeze ups and downs, in the distant memories tracing a line the waterfront. Faced with colorful life, searching, result in a concentrated among light word, open your heart, found that many of the past, but the passing whisper, what kind of choice, not a solution in itself, what kind of answer in itself is a touch of pure, Weak 3000, just take a spoonful, worlds, but Jane is on.

 

Inadvertently, time hidden in the sense of warm, like a ray of uptrend, brushed sit crevices, fall into the nostalgia of the courtyard. How many memories go back would be, how much back and became engraved miss, bit by bit, so that the text with the temperature, make memories with poetry. Childhood play away, and that's a turn, but it seems memorized; home smoke away, and that the far shore of the scenery, vaguely reproducible in the accent. Some stories have been broken, but many of the details Huanxi was clean, simple and unadorned, begins to warm the time, the warm friendship despite wind and rain, love affection.

 

Long reverie, with rows of lines, went back to his heart. Sitting alone is a form of solitude is a creative writing, leading to a wood fence Nanshan Chrysanthemum, also leading to the Dongshan moon breeze. At this time, a person's time, flowing in between the lines, clarity bottomed out, the mind is also transparent, thin like moonlight. This is a world of silence, no noise, no hustle, come summer, relative to see two tire winter to be fishing alone trees and snow, looked on a few lines of verse, silent words from the photo, the wind does not disturb the dust. In this case, you can read the hidden story of those who throbbing, retrieve those who are now covered with vines mind, can open his own small window in a sunny corner of the night, so that the memory of the old moon Qu blowing in, while he became a self-instantaneous appreciator, to eliminate unwarranted lost, converted heart Bodhi, without a tea, half the book, already unsolicited quiet, comfortable self-drag.

 

Time Taste, intimate landscapes, are every moment of the life of ups and sweet, each frame of his mouth consonance landscape shades of color, and the landscape plants and trees, a cloud a river, breathed life naive breath, leisurely contemplation of inner peace. See a hill, watching the water is water, too much Yanai cage, too many clear streams, many listened to the sound of silence, this has the original mountain, the original water, in the heart of a four-domain, echoed distant Yunshui Zen tone. A stone, rugged worth mentioning, worth mentioning cute, mountain, always at its heart; a moss, dark matter whether gray matter whether the stone, it's always in my heart. A matter of a person, regardless of size, regardless of depth, harmony is dependent, into the heart is calm, this mountain, stone, moss, there is a layered landscape, there is the understanding of compassion.

 

A pupil of the eye may be viewing the distance, as one can be realized the movement. Agreeable environment, Liuchang Qushui, joy of life, often missed in the endless lament. Gully face, turned to the road is full of youth, the scenery always favor life in everyone's antecedents, hiding in the corner of time and space, and was indifferent, revel open. Even with bitter leaf boat, also possible to water to the poor, sitting watching clouds from time to time, the heart is quiet Yunjuanyunshu own entertainment; even across numerous Roam, but also the river with flowers and grass, I love Mo dye Tin, is the heart of the quiet river from the open flower, herb since Mao. Hubbub, eventually lost in the mountains and streams, a noisy, far less understood by high mountains, Tibet, his own wild heart, to extend the expanse, but also his own emotions, silent and concentrated. Therefore, a "sad Yan intersection", the compassion that sigh, sigh to what happens in life to do, the line "風(fēng)雪夜歸人" in the warm refuge, the reality of the hardships chant finished, leading to soul spring.

 

Fleeting pages, many stories have yellowed, but the scent of ink drop more significant word mellow. During leisure, often taste Ma Yuan's "Snowy River fishing alone", Cape Mount, the water is limited, just take half, the whole landscape in mind, Kongshu overflow in the paintings, like Shangjian Yunlin "woodland hut" Wintry wilderness, a bleak, slightly the sights, a bustling little, only get a heavy outgassing hidden in the chest. Life is a blooming tree, something that life does not lie in dense, and that trade-offs, the income is received, the possession of the reservoir, so, kind of a ridge understand, owned half an acre of beautiful, holding bent mercy.

 

Tibet is an understanding, it is to understand the deepest compassion in a pool. You do not come, I'm still, Tibetan is a watch, only to fade in the hearts have been painted with promise; when not, the King still, is a possession relieved, in a trek across the pain of leaving an eternal smile; not to say, the heart is still, Tibet is a tranquil river, bath the years of fireworks, the fleeting passage of the Qing Huan, make yourself clearly listening to the pure heart Fine.

 

Should, for example, about landscape scene from, should, a farewell unexpected, it is in the name of compassion, of understanding Lane in the heart of the collection, and the lane outside, watching bridges, water, people, light still, quiet as usual .