The call of raindrops

Outside the window, the summer rain, little by little, accumulated the quietness of the night. The raindrops are a comfort to the lonely heart, the troubled raindrops weave a dense curtain, in this tedious countdown, I waited for the long-lost comfort.

The ripples caused by the raindrops mapped the quiet beauty of the years as I stepped into the shallow puddle. In such a rain, the mind will quietly think about its right and wrong. If you can have the calmness of raindrops when you quarrel with your parents, perhaps love will not be easily hurt; if you can have the tolerance of raindrops when you argue with your classmates, perhaps trust will not be easily broken; if you can have the relief of raindrops when you are irritable and hard in school, perhaps life will be more valuable. When I was thinking about the rain, I suddenly forgot about the coldness of the rain in my lapel, as if it was calling in my memory and reminding me silently: listen to the raindrops quietly, treat the world quietly, and show the warmth and coldness quietly.

The moment you walk out of the school gate, the sound of rain gradually fades. This is compassion and obedience to the world. In the back seat of the electric car, a life journey slowly departed. I saw the transparent raindrops clinging to the flowers and leaves. I saw the raindrops slowly fall from the leaf edge, the sharp teeth of the leaves were dipped in the blood of raindrops. I saw the raindrops falling slowly downward, spiraling in mid-air to perform a dull and short life.

I know that its life is fleeting, untouched by dust, clean to come and go. Even if it is heavily fallen to the ground, it still chose to melt into the water, watering the life of all things positioned. Raindrops, gently into the world, and slowly leave. A life of clean, but into the beauty of the earth; a short life, but contains the years of the flow of light. Not to consume life, not to waste time, willing to turn into rain, nourishing everything; not to slacken the flow, not to feel tired, willing to dedicate life, to realize the value; not to waste time, not to complain about the short time, willing to fill the moment, taste the beauty. These slowly falling raindrops, calls in the calm, in the dedication of persuasion: the world, the heart to the dedication, not afraid of warm and cold, moisten the common heart.

Through the paper-drenched city, this sad, sad teardrop, dripping on the asphalt road, dripping on the cold body of the car. The tires of a speeding car took away the raindrops of lingering love and left a journey of remnants. I heard the constant rippling of raindrops shouting and protesting. They play the symphony of destiny in passion and restore the natural offbeat in protest. They stay and go in the round, and shuttle passionately, purifying themselves and the world. I was shocked by such raindrops, sensitized by such passion, and touched by their passion, purity, and effort. What they play is the strongest sound of nature, and what they restore is the freshness of all natural things. At this moment, I heard the call of the raindrop's hot pillow: dream journey, passionate running; passionate struggle, not in vain.

Rain drops can fall quietly, dedication to the world or passionate dreaming, they are just a thing in the world to the end; whether it is quiet to cultivate and purify the soul, or passionate struggle, they are just the most ordinary life. They break the passion of life, experience the warmth of the world, regardless of the direction of life, willing to turn into nourishment, lightly dyed world affairs.

Perhaps our life is like this, there is stillness and movement, there is calm and passion. A little raindrop, a life, in the calm to describe, in the wind and rain to fight. Be a drop of rain, with purity and enthusiasm, even if small as one-millionth of the universe particles, but also with a call to walk through life.