The scenery that stays in my heart

The scenery that remains in the bottom of my heart, is fixed in the past, the infinite feeling of Jiangnan.

The rainy poetry of the south of the Yangtze River is full of dyes, misty and foggy, and blurs the corner of the house. The rain is swaying in a light, small tone, fresh and fresh, with a cool, leaving a dampness between the windows. The drizzle leaps and angers on the Mingwa, flashing in clear and transparent; falling down on the gray tile, it blurs the imagination in front of the window. There are floating umbrellas in the rain, raindrops on the edge of the umbrella, and the crystal rain curtain adds a lot of charm to the smile in the umbrella. The smoke and the rain are as light as the sky, and the sound is like a silk. In this quiet and affectionate rainy season, it seems that all the human beings are annihilated in this unseen mist.

In the town of Jiangnan, there is a winding bridge. The bridge has been over a hundred years and is still waiting for the summer. Looking for the footprints of Dagu's water control, stepping on the stone steps, and seeing the old engravings on the slate, perhaps a few curves, perhaps unknown objects, are so godlike. Sitting on the stone bench at the top of the bridge, the town has a panoramic view. The Ciyun Tower not far away seems to be telling the unpredictable wind, the tower bell sounds, and it is intoxicating. Looking down at the bottom of the bridge, tourists rafting, children play in the water, water plants sway. Reflected in the Shuige wooden building, the graceful posture is like a classical beauty, dignified and quiet. The flowing water carries the antiques of the town and takes away a moving poem. The winding bridge is the lonely old man, who tells an old memory in the town of Jiangnan.

Jiangnan Autumn is a sad song, and it has been written for a while. The leaves that rotten on the branches have stopped dancing, only swaying with the autumn wind, drifting. The satisfied smile ran aground at the corners of the leaves, and the swaying leaves swirled like a spring rain, but they were maturing. Years ago, when the maple leaves were clustered, I left the water town of Jiangnan. Before the parting, I stalked the maple leaves with tears and left a faint reluctance. Each leaf is inhabited with a naive, silently cherished sadness, and bid farewell to me. Picking up a worry, adding a note, the symphony of the leaves and the tune, deep in my heart.

The smoke and the rain, the description of how many fresh, look at the eyes to wear, fine paper a calm. The bridge is flowing, the thoughts in the dream are drawn, and the past is explored. Autumn maple leaves, rendering a sentimental touch, touch the heartstrings, memories have become a precipitate.

The scenery left in my heart is also the map of the south of the Yangtze River. It is also a sigh of sorrow and sorrow. It is also a sad song. Unlimited thoughts, turned into today's embarrassment. When, dream back to other places; when, touch the scenery; when, the call of the heart echoes in the ears...

The third day of Lincheng Central School, Xinghua City, Jiangsu Province: Qiu Xiaofei