The scenery in my eyes

Life is not lacking in scenery, just lacking the eyes to discover the scenery. People who love life, beauty is everywhere, and it is a good sight.

The scenery in my eyes is a row of bright windows, with a quiet bridge outside the window, countless sycamore trees, and a winding road. The trees outside the window are flourishing and dying. The cars are always moving around on the road. The people on the bridge come and go, and they are hurrying. In the classroom, we are always writing, all the year round. Laughter and laughter.

The scenery in my eyes is a narrow window. Outside the window are birch trees and ginkgo trees. A building stands quietly, next to the small playground. The building is silent all year round, white birch and ginkgo are green and yellow, yellow and green, and there are always children playing on the playground, always filled with laughter.

The scenery in my eyes is a spacious street, from morning till night, the crowds are moving, and the sound is endless. The roadside is the school, and there are a variety of small shops next to it. I can always see the lights in the school building clear and dark, and the students flocked and went back. The people who traveled to and fro were mostly parents who sent their children. They drove their children to school every day, until they saw the children entering the school gate, and they left with peace of mind. This is the most striking scenery on this street.

The scenery in my eyes is a stone path, with trees lined by trees and flowers. There is often a bench that stays quietly on the side of the road, and the people passing by are tired and take a break. Here, the summer mosquitoes are in groups, the winter is sluggish and deserted, and occasionally there will be a piano sound from the nearby window; here the spring conifers and cloves are in harmony, and the early autumn roses and the climbing wall fight for each other, do not have some fun.

Landscape, a topic that can never be said. As a kite dances over the wilderness, we can feel its breath; watching a group of wild geese heading south with a herringbone, we can touch its rhythm.