It rains in succession during the Qingming Festival.

During the Qingming Festival, it was covered with smoke and rain 1. During the Qingming Festival, the most striking thing is rain, a lingering but careless rain, and no one can escape. In its eyes, there are no rich and poor, no officials and people, and all people and things are ordinary lives that need washing. The rain in the Qingming Festival fell on the flowers, adding a little fragrance to the flowers. Although the world is full of sadness, the charming floral fragrance is clear and blurred, and no one can hide it. During the Qingming Festival, rain fell on the top of the mountain, washing away the haze on the top of the mountain; Fall into the jungle and wash the dust off the trees. During the Qingming Festival, rain falls on the rivers and roads, making the rivers happy and the roads muddy. The river absorbs new strength, making it more lively and naughty; Mud spots on the road touch the soles of passers-by and follow them to experience the joys and sorrows of ordinary people. The rain in the Qingming Festival still falls on people's minds, allowing barren feelings to take root and sprout, and it is lush in every morning and evening, showing the vitality of life.

During the Qingming Festival, the mood in my heart is like a tired river, looking for a harbor to rest. The river is a whole, and it is countless water. Although mixed with many turbid tears, but still surrounded by fish and shrimp, looking for the direction of breakthrough. The riverside scene at Qingming Festival is only a small-scale local army. It has no invincible grasp and no ability to destroy the enemy. At most, it is the nutrient of dry land and the lubricant of human feelings. During my stay in Tomb-Sweeping Day, I had to think of my dead ancestors. Although the flowers are red and green, the bleak breath that pervades the river bank still stings my soul. During the Qingming Festival, please cross a river, take green leaves as boats, petals as sails, and turn a soft wicker into an oar, so you can cross all daunting emotional obstacles. There will be different scenery and different life experiences on both sides of the strait, but they are all inseparable from the master Qingming. Even if the clothes are soaked by the waves, the fog in my heart will gradually disperse and my heavy mood will suddenly become clear.

When I was in Tomb-Sweeping Day, I rushed to catch a flower. Don't worry about the fatigue of the journey, the spring breeze goes further than you, don't complain about the biting cold of the spring rain, all the flowers are naked. Perhaps, you also want to open a white petal as a sigh in the Qingming Festival. No flower will lose its color under people's gaze, no one will be ashamed of it, flowers bloom for people, and people are happy for flowers. This is a sunny season, butterflies are dancing, aren't they dancing? Birds get into the flowers, who has the heart to drive away the elves in the flowers? During the Qingming Festival, flowers are closest to human beings. White flowers are holy, yellow flowers are gorgeous, red flowers are warm, purple flowers are dignified, black flowers are elegant, and blue flowers are wise. They also invite you to join our complex human society.

During the Qingming Festival, it is rare. Encounters in the rain by the river may make a marriage; The encounter in the hotel binge drinking may become a legend that has been passed down through the ages; The encounter in the cemetery is the spiritual exchange between future generations and ancestors. When flowers meet rain, some people are hungry and some people are intoxicated; During the storm, some people can't help it, and some people can't; When a shepherd boy meets an official, some people write good poems and some people play the willow flute of freedom. The meeting between you and me is probably an agreement made a thousand years ago, or it may just be a once-in-a-lifetime meeting. It is so short that even our smiles are not fully unfolded, but I remember it clearly that it makes people tremble.

Tomb-Sweeping Day was misty and rainy, and Tomb-Sweeping Day was in tears. Although the sun is kind, it is cold.

Buds are accompanied by flowers, and I have no intention of meeting them in my leisure time.

Dear people, where are you? Your endless crying didn't come true.

Who knows that I am lovesick and bitter, and it is difficult for Yin and Yang to meet.

Qingming in April, it was raining, and the roadside was covered with paper.

There are really ghosts in the underworld, and burning paper can really be used as money.

There was a misty rain, a sigh, an inch of time, fireworks in March,

During the Qingming Festival, it was foggy and rainy, and they all returned to their homes, showing filial piety.

Grandparents, ancestors in the sky, can really spend money in the underworld.

You can be filial when you are alive, don't think about it when you are alive, and remember it when you are dead.

Dusk becomes dusk, forgetting the world, becoming hazy and silent,

Nothing more than that, the older generation is doing it, the next generation is watching it, and the conscience is obvious.

Qingming Festival, misty and rainy, melancholy and sad days have no color; The pedestrians on the broken bridge are sparse, breathing sad air, and the pain twitches every nerve of people.

The drizzle is dancing with the tears of wandering wanderers, and my heart is full of thoughts about my hometown and relatives.

Tomb-Sweeping Day, sentimental people always shed tears and write some sentimental words. Walking in deciduous street, yellow leaves fly in mid-air and fall at the most beautiful moment. The fallen leaves are insignificant, and the green and vigorous branches and leaves wither in the blink of an eye; Sentiment for love in late autumn; The gray sky in my eyes is full of haze and gray; A person's night, leaning against the wall of singing, listening to the melody of wild roses, the moonlight is no longer bright, love is no longer pure, and love becomes extravagant; When I returned to Qingshiban Village in my dream, I felt a dull pain in my heart. I understood that love is just a wisp of smoke in the country, a lamp on earth, and a beautiful snuff. No matter how beautiful it is, there will be a moment of extinction.

I was young and inexperienced. I didn't experience the heartbreak and the pain of losing my loved ones in Where Are You Going? Naturally, I don't understand the fragility and brevity of life. I once pointed to the vast world and asked stupidly: Is there really so much beauty and sadness in the world? Why are imaginary fairy tales always so beautiful? A migratory bird quietly stays on a dead branch and waits for its return. The tree is covered with yellow leaves, and it is really beautiful. But when the autumn wind blows over the young wings of migratory birds, the sand blurs its eyes, and the corners of its mouth have no warm smile in the past, leaving only its endless sadness.

Remember that misty and rainy Qingming. I walked through the rainy eaves with my camera on my back, and my clothes were wet. The cold and wet chill penetrated into my bone marrow. We came to a cemetery, and the intricate path was full of weeds and filled with a barren atmosphere.

At this moment, I am surrounded by tombstones and desolation, and my eyes are more depressed and have no outline. Looking back on yesterday, I sometimes complain about life and think that life is a semi-finished product, which is a very boring thing. But I don't know, in the waiting time, life actually taught me a lot, and the colorful life in my memory became completely strange.

The ancient tombstone is engraved with strange words. I accidentally saw a cracked grave, where an unknown little flower grew quietly, which surprised me and made me feel sad. The strange color of this little flower also makes Mo Ming feel sad. I used my camera to freeze this painting into eternity. Regardless of thoughts and dust.

That cemetery taught me that living is love. Life is actually a very fragile thing. In this world, everyone has his own way of living. We can't always think about how others live, let alone live for others all the time. What we need is to cherish and appreciate the scenery that life has given us.

We all yearn for the spotless sky, without the sadness of landing yellow flowers, without the battlefield filled with smoke, without the pain of where you will go; Here, you will not grow old, your life will not fade, there will be no sad tears in your life, love will only have the most beautiful beginning, and there will be no heartbreaking farewell at the end of the century. The years are silent, and I want to see the spotless sky in pure time.

In misty and rainy March, sadness hangs over Qingming, cold and solemn, hazy and silent, sacred and solemn, making people afraid to approach. And the sun, which has seen all its life experiences, no matter how things turn and how fragrant the flowers on the other side of the fleeting time exude, it is still warm and warm, with the brightest smile, welcoming the lonely dusk and facing the ghost of the night alone; Seeing through the secular moon, it is noble, pure, Leng Yan and beautiful. It bears the bleak waning moon alone, sings the warmest touch in the world, quietly enjoys this wonderful time of solitude, and sings the most sincere blessing as always: May people live for a long time and travel thousands of miles.

Life, walking on the edge of a cliff, is too fragile, too short and too hasty. Sometimes, a gorgeous turn is a silent farewell. There are no signs or ceremonies. Some people just disappear from your life, standing by the Naihe Bridge and drinking Meng Po Tang, who has forgotten the world, can only look forward to seeing each other in the afterlife.

Life, there is no luxury of waiting for a new start, and there is no rebirth if; Come to an end, dry up, cool down, disappear, dusk, rustling autumn leaves, is the end of life, there is no resurrection of the afterlife.

There was a misty rain, a paper sigh, an inch of time, fireworks in March, walking in the streets, listening to the crisp songs of cuckoo, listening to endless stories told by the old man, and telling endless desolation; The night is like this, living in the countryside where flowers fall, and the children's flutes are melodious; Listening to lonely old trees singing at night and watching the bright moon in the wind; Look at the fleeting time through the sunset at dusk, but forget the fallen leaves. The flashy scene, I will no longer be a fugitive in my youth and a castle city in the barren era.

Misty rain in Ming Che, misty morning fog, broken bridge of life, grave of death, breezes dancing sleeves, sweeping the hair tips, and the hair has turned gray, following suit, walking with an oil-paper umbrella in the years and in the cherished wind and rain.

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