A leaf in the hand, listen to the murmur of life

The flow of the year is a wonderful pen with a good mind, between the lines of the story of time written. Time passed inch by inch, spring went, summer went, and the heart of the autumn came as expected.

It's the time of autumn breeze, autumn leaves like frightened birds, have flown away from the treetops, listen to the ears, we seem to hear the "Twitter" chirp ...... listen carefully, heart to feel, you will feel the autumn in the quiet contains a prosperous The vibrancy.

Fate has given us a pair of sad eyes, life has given us a compassionate and tender heart. The last song of autumn cicadas adds another layer of sadness and emotion. The sadness is the withering and drifting of some lives; the emotion is that some lives tend to mature and full.

Each season of fallen leaves, are telling us about the course of life and death so that people can appreciate the meaning of life. A leaf from germination, flourishing, to decay and withering, and finally gently slide down to the ground, unable to respond to the earth's enthusiasm. Like a weathered old man, there is not a single complaint about life or even a single sigh.

Buddha said: a flower a world, a leaf a bodhi. The departure of leaves, is the wind chasing, or the tree does not stay? To these, the fallen leaf is indifferent, because it understands, that "a year a withering" is a kind of inevitable, know how to say goodbye, to better goodbye. It has always been believed that the future is a colorful, green spring.

In reality, we seldom have time to slow down, appreciate the blossoming flowers, feel the changing of the seasons, and even less to truly face ourselves and nourish the soul. If people can see the truth of this cycle, living will not be so tiring.

"The eyes grow clearer because of more tears, and the heart grows warmer because of the sorrows". Some people say that middle age is like autumn, more or less, from the inside and outside to emit a mature, stable "taste", that is because life has been constantly honed, the mind continues to grow, and learned to look at the clouds, openly face the storm.

Autumn leaves are quietly beautiful, beautiful in the heaviness of life, beautiful in the process of life's splendor, beautiful in the richness of the wind and frost drenched, beautiful in the return to the soil of that calm. Who can penetrate the secrets and heart of the autumn leaves? It can go with the wind, but people can't do such a spontaneous, such decision.

The quiet beauty of autumn leaves is still a chapter in Tagore's poetry, which can only be salvaged in memory and between the lines. Holding an autumn leaf in my hand, gazing at its textured veins, and holding my breath, I feel as if I have heard the murmur of life ......

In the most beautiful autumn, meet the most beautiful self

As if a turn of the eye, the autumn color is thick again. As if a plain white Xuan, was randomly splashed with ink, instantly had a colorful look.

I think autumn is like this. It comes, like a thousand armies and horses, and a great deal. A night of autumn rain, a wisp of autumn wind, it can make the whole world change its appearance.

The swallows that came to make their nests last year flew away when the autumn was just cold. Only those geese, only just flocked away. At this time, the autumn breeze is lightly sent, the fragrance of melons and fruits. If you are free, whether you walk in the fields or wander through the streets, there is a comfortable and sweet taste.

For the four seasons of nature's gift, the sequence of years, always like to use a grateful heart, to meet, to smile at, to be pleased. That oncoming destiny is also always accustomed to a heart of fate, a fate to cherish fate, and fate to send fate.

The four seasons of life, the flow of light and time, and the landscape are different. You can meet all kinds of flowers, you can also meet all kinds of people. No matter what kind of encounter, it is necessary to pass through the years in life. We just need to carry a light, simple and travel.

The road of wind and rain, since the ancient autumn sad loneliness. In prosperity, who can do without a trace of sadness, who can always smile without causing sadness? We are all passers-by on earth, whether silent or lively, with the heart, with nature, with the joy, with the fate of the good.

Perhaps, some of the words said, in the moment of turning around, will become a promise in the wind. The fact is that you can find a lot of people who are not able to get a good deal on a lot of things.

The fact is that you will be able to get a lot more than just a couple of days to get a lot more than just a couple of days. The fact is that you will not be able to see some sad endings and tears, no longer for the missed scenery and regrets, no longer for the wait for the answer and heartbreak.

We are originally plain, since we are closely related to the firewood and oil and salt-stained with the world, and simple and compassionate people are suitable for quiet. Life is in a hurry. The red dust in the prosperity eventually will be in the thousands of sails after the end, returned to silence, dust to dust, earth to earth. The fallen leaves of autumn will eventually be in the early winter a thin layer of frost, hiding the last prosperity.

It should be, the first cold is still warm, and the begonia is still the same. Looking back, it is the autumn color Ran can not stay, full of fallen leaves, autumn has been twilight. Stepping on the last breeze of autumn, will you still find the old courtyard and the people at that time?

Perhaps, I have not aged, you have not changed. The fact is that you can find a lot of people who have been in the business for a long time. Fortunately, some of the people who like it are still in their hearts. Some of the favorite scenery, still in the eyebrows.

You see, the white clouds in the sky are still dust-free and white so clear. And, the sky is still like a favorite curtain, so empty and lofty. The memory, slightly cool with the plain days, quiet, and peaceful. I was in the most beautiful autumn, making tea, writing, quietly waiting for the osmanthus quietly open, waiting for the maple leaves slowly red. Then, meet the most beautiful self.