A tree blossom

Walking on the muddy sheep's intestine trail in the countryside, stumbling everywhere, walking with bushy weeds, all the way through the thorns, looking far away, there is a faint little red tile house soaked in rain.

Huh? What is Grandma doing?

Use your hand to open a simple door made of several wooden bars, and the small door "squeaks" while singing a small song, turning. The moment I opened the door, my bright golden light couldn't open my eyes. It was dense, and you wouldn't let me, I wouldn't let you, all rushed with flowers.

At dinner, the gentle wind and the fragrant laurels, you have me, you have me, the aroma overflows with the wind. So I hurried down the chopsticks and dipped into the sea of ​​flowers again.

When I walked into the laurel, I could only see vigorous trunks like dragon claws entering the ground, providing a steady stream of nourishment for osmanthus to make a wonderful fragrance. There are also a few flexible branches quietly over the wall, growing on other people's site. There are also a few thick branches sticking into the sky. If you want to be taller than the sky, try to paint a plate of paint on the sky. The sun renders the sky orange-red. The cloud hovered relatively low, and the light accompanied it, like the neatly embroidered cloud on the jade yellow gauze. The cloud and light blend, and the imagination and the reality are born, adding a little more depth, mystery and fantasy. Clouds sent occasional smiles of the sun, and the sun cast a soft, sparse shadow on the ground through the dense laurels.

Bursts of waves, tangy noses, green leaves, blossoming golden flowers, like a young girl wearing a green coat and a yellow scarf around her head, stood in the grandmother's yard, only a shallow glance, Instantly make you bones. A breeze came, and the wind kissed sweet-scented osmanthus sweetly, and a few petals danced in the wind, spinning around. The laurel tree seems reluctant to spend it. In the time when the flowers fall, it has been watching the flowers with affection, and the time seems to be frozen. But the flowers fell to the ground after all. The ground covered with osmanthus flowers, like soft and comfortable plush carpets, are wonderful and dreamy. Maybe to leave for a new beginning. "Falling red is not ruthless, it turns into spring mud to protect flowers." I understand that they decorated the world in another way.

By mid-autumn, a tree blossoms and its fragrance overflows, and I am drunk.

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