Time is like water, emotional prose.

As time goes by, the Spring Festival is getting closer and closer, and the firecrackers outside the window make the taste of the year stronger. Perhaps it was cloudy that kept me at home for many days, but for me, whether I had a holiday or not, I obviously lost my excitement. Living in a foreign country makes my holiday slowly extend in peace.

On the first day of holiday, two cups of coffee and three cups of green tea, I disappeared. Listening to the sad tune, I heard the cloudy day outside more gloomy. Nevertheless, my mood has not been taken away by sadness. In meditation, I recalled all the details of the year. Last year seemed to be yesterday, which made my memories a little melancholy, sighing in melancholy-the shortness of life. Time is also a strange thing, sometimes it makes people feel long, especially when waiting, one second is so hard, so it can be seen that the speed of time is just a feeling.

I don't like China New Year and festivals. I wonder when it happened. With the wandering figure, the festival is a little simpler and there is some silence. To tell the truth, I'm a little tired of avoiding festivals, secular dinners and parties, looking at the noisy crowd and saying things I don't like to say. Especially when you meet those so-called officials and bosses, it's really hard to say compliments. I'm not good at buttering up powerful people, which makes me feel a little resistant. Whether you don't like the manners of officials or despise their wealth, in short, you are running away.

It's almost two years since I went back to my hometown for the Spring Festival. Let me give up the so-called worldly wisdom, sleep until I wake up naturally, and think what I want, which saves money, saves trouble and has many benefits. Perhaps my parents are gone, which makes me lose the motivation to go home, and my two brothers are in other places, which makes my hometown lose the initiative in the arrangement of the trip. Go home for the Chinese New Year at most, prepare a red envelope gift box, and visit relatives and friends.

I don't know when the Spring Festival became so vulgar. Preparing for the Spring Festival means preparing money, so that a peaceful Spring Festival is like growing a thick layer of moss on jade. If time can go back, I would like to stay in my childhood, because almost all the beauty of the Spring Festival is left in my childhood and in my memory. A new dress or a yuan lucky money can make the Spring Festival exciting for a long time. Memory is simple, just like splashing spring ink on the palette of time. If you think about it at will, you will have some happy impulses.

In the twilight, the "water cloud Zen mind" flows in space like a clear water, and it is also a little fidgety, and some are like water in the past.

Time is like water, emotional prose II. Follow the footsteps of time, looking for traces of moss that first lived in time. Every inch of moisture and scratches is the kiss of time and me.

I can't let go of the old days, chase the grass and fly, and let the growth converge into a river. From Ya Ya's naivety to her naive fantasy to Yun Qi's liberation. Everything is slow, nothing more than those old ideas. Sigh, the years are old, but fortunately, I am still safe.

What the moonlight salvaged was the deep moss that had stagnated in the years. Every inch of collection and stripping is a bow to the past, and every opening and closing is also a deep farewell to the years.

Love words that stay in time are the most, and women may be particularly impressed by' love'. Those who turn the word upside down the most should regard it as true. The world without love is cold; Without love, mountains and rivers are bleak. As a result, many people who are silent in life melt a deep feeling into ink. Because, indeed, they have nowhere to go, only in words. With you and me, it is impossible to disturb. As a result, those lost bits and pieces are decorated with words, leaving only moving figures of butterflies flying out of the ink. There is no need to seek roots when you can come, because the moss traces of the years are deep. With a little fiddling, it is difficult to find the original dust.

The world of mortals is deep, you don't know who to rub shoulders with, but you show the deepest compassion.

The world of mortals is real. You don't know who you've been with in your life, but you've been gone for the longest time, and it's plain and seamless.

Sometimes, I have to marvel at the truth and depth of fate. Some people depend on each other all their lives and will never be together again.

Perhaps, thanks to this mistake, there are traces in the text that can be followed and revisited. Because the day of fireworks is the most real. I believe what many people say is true.

Years later, along the country road, I was salvaging the traces of moss that I stepped on countless times many years ago. The local accent is still there, and the voice is like a thousand tadpoles. I want to say: I'm back, the path is still there, but it's cold in winter and the highland barley on the roadside is gone. I remember how close they were when they were children. How can I find the' Womi' of sorghum red that can't be wrapped in the park? A delicious gray plant. Nowadays, red silk is only danced in high-density areas to make wine.

My father's bones are buried in the ground. And every time I come, I find the missing villagers, and their figures are all rushing to this land.

My uncle, who walked on crutches, greeted the girl who once laughed at me for having a baby face. It was hard for him to recognize it again. Time makes people old, and personnel are not what they used to be.

When I entered the village, the old house was still there. My old neighbor who studied for twelve years passed away yesterday. Unmarried all her life, she made a living by fortune telling. In her later years, she took in a homeless stupid woman, spent her life in a semi-thatched cottage, and fainted due to alcoholism. In the depths of his memory, there is an old purple box hidden in his old house, which is full of thread-bound books that he borrowed for shallow reading when he was young. Now, they don't know where to live Does the old pagoda tree, once lit by a firework in front of the door, still hold the old house, remember the simplicity and desolation of its owner, and remember the empty poem book? Above, flocks of crows and birds are on the road, so they fly to the west and birds are singing in the air. Life is sometimes sad.

"The moss on the upper stage is green, and the grass color enters the curtain." His humble inscription is really covered with moss traces. Most literati are poor all their lives. Only the laughing scholar is missing.

In my village, the once mossy stones have disappeared. It used to lie quietly at the eastern end of the river. Now that the river is full of minerals, the fish and shrimp at the bottom of the river can be seen clearly at the beginning and can only be collected in revisiting old dreams. I miss the water chestnut leaves floating on the river, and I miss the delicious mussels that my father stepped out of the river. Now, there is no trace. The once blue sky is gone. The air has become turbid. The floating calamus once told me the changes of the four seasons in the middle of the river, but now it only reminds me of my childhood in the cicada-clearing Weibo.

The once unknown village is also known to the people around because of the expansion of the funeral home. Facing the impermanence of life and death, people are more pessimistic about the falsehood of the world. Perhaps peace is man's best pursuit. So many people choose to put down their innocent hearts and laugh at the world of mortals.

The moss marks of the years, deep or shallow, are like Gu Jian with green rust. There is a story waiting for you to cut with your sword. Although it has lost its sharpness at first glance, it is still a blunt instrument.

Such as water time, and passed away in the years. Dried water drops are all traces of moss. And living a little old, like peeling onions, inadvertently moistens the fundus, whether it is love or nostalgia.