The bleak green tile village is set off in the last glow of the sunset. A trace of green smoke curls up, sometimes to the East and sometimes to the west, unable to find a fixed direction. The dim light and shadow on the bluestone Road, with the smell of dusk, are yellowish bit by bit. Wutong, the reason is chaotic, miserable and miserable, lonely and helpless desolation, bending the Indus tree's pride. Stirring and stumbled. Smoke and clouds are born and dispersed. Even if a good horse is thousands of miles away, it can't trace back to time. From front to back, there are thousands of knots in the heart, which turn into frost.
The shadow is horizontal and oblique, and the dark fragrance floats. The rippling scenery of the previous life is engraved on the bluestone slab, which is longer than the weak water. The ink with appropriate intensity splashes out rotating pictures, and the ink fragrance is thousands of miles. The kind-hearted girl prayed that under the bodhi tree, she would look beautiful and smoke. Hands together, pious Sanskrit singing, such as one's eyes shuttle through thousands of rivers and mountains, do not ask for flowers to bloom for thousands of years, but only hope that the water is shallow and dissolved into unforgettable love.
With a smile, it has a long lasting charm. With only a wave of hands, it pays for the seven emotions in the world. The palm of the Buddha is tolerant and thick. The eyes of the Buddha are quiet and kind. With just a nod, they give little hope to spread far away. In the silent world of strangers, orange words are sprinkled on the silent night, leaning alone on the railing, allowing thoughts to breathe in the moonlight. Abandoned all the waiting, cut through the crowded earth and wound the suffocating air.
Deep in the bamboo forest, endless falling flowers, a quiet past, gently encounter the elegance of gurgling water. By the bridge covered with stories, the girl whispered, the name once called 'dream'. Distant, twilight? I wonder if he will appear every moonlight night as scheduled? Enjoy with her there. The twinkling of each star, thousands of light-years away, only lights up two atriums. Just gently, stop in, it can't melt.
That pool has dark green falling flowers, breathing sad, bit by bit. The wisp of smoke from memory, like gauze, will still light into the girl's dream, reminding her that she had been happy and sad. Throw away the mottled color, and remove the continuous crystal curtain to wet the dry corners of your eyes. One by one, transparent, astringent, more and more, I remembered the fate of that summer until the fog filled my eyes.
Near dusk, Buddha worship, quiet people, along with the west wind, the evening bell sounded three or four times. The melodies and long thoughts that linger in my mind from time to time are not worth a short time. Just look up and see the raindrops flying. How many lines of lover's tears?
Look far, close at hand, retreat, far away.
I like you, there is a distance!
Constant soul, lingering love. Falling into darkness, begging for sleep and afraid to wake up. A person's sunny day, the earth is slightly yellow, in the fragmented space, precipitation. Forget the warmth and silence before the rain. Or the place where the sun first wakes up, flash mood, some light is confused. The heart, in the ethereal place, listens to the distant sound. I should have been used to enjoying myself in the lost season.
Another year, the grass grows and the warbler flies. I already know that the shadow of the past, even if it is profound, is too short! Since you have chosen the distance, you have to learn to bear it. Curled up in the dim light of memory, how to enjoy the fragrance of pear flowers and rain on the roadside?