Photographer Xiao Ran

Peach trees, apricot trees and pear trees are all in full bloom, and you won't let me or I won't let you. Red is like fire, pink is like chardonnay and white is like snow. Flowers are sweet; When I closed my eyes, the tree seemed to be covered with peaches, Xinger and pears. Hundreds of bees are buzzing under the flowers, butterflies of different sizes are flying around, and there are wild flowers everywhere: miscellaneous, named and unnamed, scattered in the grass, like eyes, like stars, blinking. Zhu Ziqing's Spring

Dust and smoke? Want to break up and rest. Clouds gradually shed their beautiful shells? Before the cold star looms, is there one last glimpse of the fireworks-filled world? Look up? Floating in the air, scattered with sadness? Who turns around and can't bear to watch a scene disappear without a trace.

Years are like the wind? Blow away the vicissitudes of life. Wave a deep vein? Bury the past years. Some people, some things and the depths of time? Gradually dim and gentle thinking? Think of that kind of frustrated sadness? Think about the boundless dust margin.

At the beginning of the night? Drunk and singing. Drink a pot of sake? So sad? Colic? The face is cool and clear, leaving? Blurred drunken shadows lurk in the bleak. Is it a smoky past? In the tortuous life, picturesque and poetic.

"Sleeping in the pillow"? A dream, searched for thousands of times and didn't come back.

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