The sky wear black clothes, a gray. Slowly, the sky floating under the thin rain, rustling, dripping with windows. Open the window, a gust of wind was pouring, I shuddered, feeling cold, naked skin gooseflesh all over, a bit not autumn
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A few days ago, rain, rain, is so beautiful, like playing a song of autumn whispers, appears in a splash one autumn day long scroll, like fog smoke Madadayo smoke, such as incense, a natural scroll, diffuse in the misty mountains. The wind, gently blowing, like a lover's breath, into the nostril, fragrance and fresh, spread all over the body, warm comfortable.
Is still thin rain, is still a rustling sound, xixilili • • • still gray day, still has a smoky, why there is no such beauty and comfort? Perhaps a cold rain, lost the beautiful image. As well as the severe winter into hair into tip Ma Fei rain, will only boring. Who would have the grace to appreciate beauty the cold rain in cold days
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See, even a piece of rice field, not before a rain, took the opportunity to stand straight, suck as fresh blood rain, into the final nutrient to full of rice; but in the autumn of the despotic power, flagging reel right and left, golden rice leaf decadence became yellow, yellow rice only low head, hiding in the dead leaves under a sad tears.
The cold rain wanton next, a leaf rotating falling in the rain. This is not a "grass lonely cry cricket, startled fell trees", also let me remember "peach blossom spring day, the Indus Yela when". Yes, thick of autumn, autumn is heartless, the leaf sadness in the rain and screwed up, lonely fall. The leaves are so sad, like the old, abandoned the tree branch. It was lying on the ground, as the rain drenched the wet, wait for it's fate is into the mud. Perhaps only in this way, it can be reborn
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