Autumn soul

The autumn angels came to nature in a thin, sloppy autumn fog blouse. She was too late to pick up the fog from the angels. Just wave the pen, blend red, orange, yellow, green, blue, blue, and purple into one, and then sway it on everything.

The beauty of autumn is mature - she is not as shy as spring, as dew in summer, as indulgent as winter.

In the autumn, the mature fruit is bowed. It is not self-respecting, nor is it self-indulgent. It is not sobering that it will fall off the branch, but is thinking about its own growth. When we are old, we think about doing it to Mother Earth. What contribution has been made, even if it encounters ups and downs, it does not wrinkle. Because there is no fruit ripening in the world without the wind and rain; there are no fruits in the world that are not matured by the sun.

The beauty of autumn is sensible - it is not as charming as spring, summer is so hot, and winter is so subtle.

Some people say that the autumn wind is cold and ruthless, complaining that it blows away the leaves, blows off the fruit, blows off the seeds, and says it blows away a vibrant world. However, I did not agree. Because it is the autumn wind, the leaf is introduced to the roots, so that it finds the mother who continues the life; it is the autumn wind, the seed is hidden in the thick land, so that he has a hotbed of spring; in autumn, the fruit is brought into a A warm home that makes it preserve the embryos of life. Autumn is sensible. It is willing to misinterpret it. It still insists on unshakable fulfillment of the sacred duties conferred by nature.

Autumn, harvest season, golden season - as lovely as spring, as warm as summer, as charming as winter.

Life is like autumn, not fortunate, fast.