Snowflake

Snow, again outside the window drifting, light and free drifting.

Look at the snowflakes dancing in the wind, waving white, dancing lightly with simplicity, suffused with endless fairy-tale-like sentiments. Look at the happy winter elves, white like the season's feathers, simple like naughty and innocent children, dancing with poetry, dancing with inspiration, infiltrated into a crystal moist, illusion into a wonderful legend, a fairy tale.

Looking out of the window, the road, the trees, and the roof across the street have been covered with thick white snow.

When I opened the window, a few naughty elves flew in leisurely and landed lightly on my body and desktop, and suddenly disappeared. Looking out of the window at the snowy sky, looking at the pedestrians hurrying along the road in the snow, looking at the gloomy chaotic sky, looking at the distant unseen fields of the sky, thinking of the boundless pure white and holy between heaven and earth, my thoughts flew far and wide ......

This is the third snowfall of the year. The first two have been helplessly missed by me in the rush of world affairs! The vanity of pretense, the rush of life, the hustle and bustle of the world, and the society full of utilitarianism, have made the mind full of green gradually pale, barren, and deserted, the poetic sense of touch gradually dulled, the face of the beautiful moments around the glittering clean, we no longer as the rhythmic thoughts of the mountain spring, no soul trembling, the echo of the heart.

But today, once again in the face of the sky full of snow, the face of the light sprinkling, my heart's call is getting stronger and stronger, it will not allow me to miss the beautiful moments of the season again and again!

I like snow days since I was a child, snow with me growing up, how many times growing up on the snow days ah! Time and again the sky white, I have carefully treasured in the depths of memory, that piece of pure white flying sprite, in my childhood sky, has been drifting, flying, illusion, and finally turned into an endless number of fairy tales, imagination, dreams, and the inextinguishable forever innocence, purity, and beauty.

Each time the face of the sky snow I have many feelings, many thoughts, each time the face of the snow I want to say something in my heart, say something about the pursuit, about the innocence, about the dream words. Snow, these glittering hexagonal flowers, always leisurely drifting down, free to fly, like a poetic dream as leisurely drift down, drifting down in the depths of my heart, such as dancing with the light of the mountain spring as slowly moisten my lush green soul like a meadow.

I can't help but feel enchanted in the face of the flying snow and return to my childhood again and again. Just like the breeze brushing the strings of the piano, sending a heavenly sound; just like the sunlight through the branches of the dense forest, through the layers of green leaves sieve down the dappled light and shadow, facing the sky full of snow, I can always feel the infinite ethereal, endless poetry.

I have always longed for a big snowfall! Let the world become a silvery white, glittering, piece of innocence. In the sky full of innocence, the sky full of glittering clean, the sky full of thoughts let me go to the white sky, to be polluted by the world's own vain and impetuous soul in the snow wash clean. Then, I will be like a small grass in the coming spring, the green of life grows again, to smile to meet the first rays of spring sunshine.

Looking at the flying snowflakes, thinking that the year's 365 miles will come to an end again. So the heart is surging with a few more melancholy, a few more feelings, a few more hopes. Looking back on our life journey, in the three hundred and sixty-five days that have passed, we have struggled, forged ahead, failed, and succeeded. Our laughter and loss, our confusion and confusion, have become incomparable beautiful memories, as Pushkin said in a poem: "And that past, will be dyed with inexplicable lovesickness." Isn't it?

Snow, still drifting outside the window, lightly and freely drifting.

A moment I will go out in the thick snow on a line of skewed footprints, accompanied by the long-lost cheerful song, all the way to the white snow in the wilderness, into the fairy-tale world. As I dreamed on the internet, accompanied by the enthusiastic encouragement of my literary friends and poets, I have been walking unreservedly towards the holy and distant sanctuary of literature.