The dandelion on the glory is flying

Bring a flying umbrella

Wear Yang with Liu, dance,

Continued childhood butterfly dream.

--Inscription

On the balcony, the night scent is the skirt of the beautiful moon, swaying in the breeze, picking up the petals and resting it on my pages. I don’t forget me on the window sill, quietly opening my eyes and seeing the years on the dandelion flying.

Look, that period of time is like water, flying from dandelion, standing, precipitating, sublimating, spreading into the keys of the piano keys and smearing into cheerful notes, casting the keys of the past, and tearing up my dusty memories.

At that time, the moonlight was still very young, soaking my window sill and dyeing the flowers. Starry sky outside the window, starlight like beans, with the neighboring children leaning against the moonlight stars. The breeze whispered from behind. The position between the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl in the north and the south is like this in the water, and through the distant years of the light years, the gaze is fixed.

That period of years fluttered from the dandelion, the dark blue night sky, I listen to the stars.

In the days when the wind is light and dark, the sky is pure white without impurities, and it is netted into a piece of filter paper, filtering out the grass, and under the blue sky, a pair of small ankles running in front of the parents. The tender little hand licks the long kite line, like two white rice balls, leaping at the end of the line, the kite will not go away, the smile will not be sad, because there are two big palms licking the kite line, that small Small fists have a safe haven and have dependencies.

That period of time flew over the dandelion. The blue sky, I see the lightness of the kite.

At that time, the sunset was always drunk on the top of the mountain. I was too late to return. I waited for the sky to throw the red clouds. The little hand rolled up the trousers and ran in the sunset. .

That period of years fluttered from the dandelion, the red night wind, I smell the sweetness of the sunset.

The wind is still fresh, the grass is still stretched, and the fireflies take me to the high-flying umbrella, watching the years on the dandelion, flying.

Second day: 蓦花