On the first day, I was wearing a new dress, cheerfully and mother together go to possessing the newly opened tesco supermarket. Entered the supermarket doors, a thick festal atmosphere had come. People mountain people sea, in the supermarket is full of beautiful things in the mall. We are in the supermarket shopping for a long time.
One out of the supermarket, in front of a scene let me unexpected. Looked at the sky perched in the sky slowly drifting down, glittering and translucent get rid of the snow, pieces, like white butterflies dance in the air, and like a fairy in the sky to the earth's lunar New Year gift, spend countless element to the earth shed.
Under the white snow, the greater the before long, the earth is like with a silver. Snow is like a naughty child, others fell on the big tree, the tree as if full of pieces of honeysuckle. Others fell on the roof, the whole room ion is like wearing a hat that silver. Others fell on the hills in the distance, the mountains changed the silver with a biltong. Stop at the roadside car had been covered with snow, with a distinctive new clothes in the New Year.
I can no longer bear the cold, run to the snow, make the snow falling in the body, I reached out and catch the pieces of a glittering and translucent snowflake. Snow to my warm hand, immediately melted.
Back at home, watching swirl of snow, I think, tomorrow I must run to the mountains to go, make a snowman, snowball fights, free to enjoy the snow brings us joy and happiness.
The autumn wind blowing into the campus, camphor trees in the distance was the autumn wind blowing east shakes west swings. Slightly yellowing of the leaves in the autumn wind to death struggle... Issued a final roar, but it is still the tragic fate, is by the ruthless autumn wind blows down...
Perhaps, leaves fell like a sad poem, however, isn't it a beautiful? Shelley says: "if winter comes, can spring be far behind?" I said: "yellow leaves fall, the leaves will awake!" Its death gestates the buds of life. , it is not death, it is selfless dedication.
See, in the flower beds and a few roses proudly stands, there are red. Powder, open bright. In the autumn wind, it unavoidably some she, however, it in with his own body and bleak autumn wind. A gust of wind blowing, it appears some shaky, but it got through, it wins, it beat the autumn cold, open the gorgeous.
The autumn wind bleak, desolate seeds implanted in people's hearts. I do not know when, in the back garden that daily leafy tree, also failed to escape the clutches of the autumn wind, the red leaves have been wind too little.
Qing faint moon enchanting shot that patches of struggling tightly huddle together in the wind of red leaves, leave a little bit of refute, traces of moonlight kisses...
The wind is still hard, did not stop. Moonlight like frost is full of camphor tree leaves, with cold water white light swaying in the wind, dancing quietly, quietly faded and fallen, leaving only the fragmented memories...