Go to work to tell fortune.

After the shock, the cold in spring intensified. First, the material is steep, and then the rainy season begins, sometimes dripping, sometimes wet, even in the dream, it seems to have an umbrella. With an umbrella, I got rid of a little embarrassment.

Xiao's cold rain cannot escape the whole rainy season. Even my thoughts are wet. Going home every day, it is a dream to walk into the rain and wind from Jinmen Street to Xiamen Street. Want to be like this

The sadness in Taipei is completely the flavor of black and white movies. I think the whole history of China and China is nothing more than a black-and-white movie. It rained like this from beginning to end. I wonder if this feeling comes from antonioni.

From the park. But that land was a long time ago. Twenty-five years, a quarter of a century, even if it rains, Qian Shan is full of water, and the umbrella is across Qian Shan. In fifteen years, everything has been broken, only the climate and only the weather forecast are still involved.

Together, a big cold current rolled in from that land, and this coolness was shared with the ancient mainland. It is a comfort to your children that you can't jump into her arms and be swept by her skirt.

When I think so, I feel a little warm in the cold. When he thinks like this, he hopes that these narrow alleys will extend forever, and his thinking can also be extended, not from Jinmen Street to Xiamen Street, but from Jinmen to Xiamen.

Doors. He is from Xiamen, at least in a broad sense. For twenty years, he has been living in Xiamen Street instead of Xiamen, which is a mockery and a comfort. But in a broad sense, he is also Jiangnan, Changzhou and Nanjing in a broad sense.

People, Sichuan children, Wuling teenagers.

The apricot blossom and spring rain in the south of the Yangtze River was his boyhood. It will be clear in half a month. Antonioni's lens tossed and turned, tossed and turned. Residual water is like water, and the earth after heaven is like water. Yun Yun's longevity benefits the people.

From north to south is like. Is there porcelain in it? China, of course, will always be China. It's just that the apricot blossom and spring rain are gone, the shepherd boy no longer gives directions, the sword gate is drizzling, and the dust in Weicheng is gone. However, he dreamed of it day and night.

Where is this land?

In the headlines of the newspaper? Or is it a rumor in Hong Kong? Or black keys Bai Encong's jumping bow and plucking strings? Or is it the hope of antonioni's mirror-ending horse week? Nevertheless, the walls and glass of the Palace Museum.

In the cupboard, in the Taibai Dongpo rhyme in the sound of Beijing opera gongs and drums?

Apricot flowers and spring rain in the south of the Yangtze River. Liuge, maybe that piece of soil is in it. Whether it's Chixian, Shenzhou or China, it's all changing. As long as Cang Xie's inspiration persists and the beautiful China people are not old, the image will be magnetic.

A stone-like centripetal force must grow in. Because a square character is a world. At the beginning, there were words, so the memories and hopes of his ancestors were pinned in the hearts of Han people. For example, write a word "rain" out of thin air, dribs and drabs, and forget it.

Tuotuo, Didi, all love and rain, just like it. What kind of visual beauty can rain or pluie satisfy? Open a copy of Ci Yuan or Ci Hai,

Jin Mu has water, fire and earth all over the world, but once it reaches the "Rain" Department, ancient China is ever-changing and takes in everything in a glance. Beautiful frost, snow and clouds and terrible thunder and hail only show God's good temper and bad temper.

I can never get tired of reading an encyclopedia that is incomprehensible to laymen.

Listen, the cold rain. Look at that cold rain. Smell it, cold rain, lick it, cold rain. The rain on his umbrella, the raincoats on the umbrellas of millions of people in this city, the antennas on the houses, the ships in Keelung Port and the breakwater channel.

In fact, this season is clear and rainy. Rain is a woman and should be the most emotional. The rain and dew are ethereal and psychedelic, smelling carefully, refreshing, with a little mint fragrance. When it is strong, it gives off a faint earthy smell unique to grass and Woods.

Gas, maybe that's actually the smell of earthworms and snails, after all, I was shocked. Maybe the life on the ground and underground, maybe the memories of ancient China are all silly crawling, maybe the subconscious and dreams of plants are tense and fishy.

When I went to America for the third time, I lived in the mountains of Denver for two years. The western United States is mountainous and desert, and it is dry for thousands of miles. The sky is as blue as Anglo-Saxon eyes, the ground is as red as Indian skin, and clouds are rare.

Look at Bai Niao. There are clusters of dazzling snow peaks in the Rocky Mountains, with few clouds and fog floating. One is high, the other is dry, and the third is above the forest line, and the cedar has stopped. "Clouds Wangfu interest? Free and easy in my chest "or" Yellow Rain in Shang Lue "in China's poems is an ugly landscape in the Rocky Mountains. The victory of the Rocky Mountains lies in stones and snow. Those jagged rocks overlap and depend on each other, creating a thrilling sculpture exhibition for the sun and wind thousands of miles away. White and illusory snow, cold and clear, endless momentum makes people feel hard to breathe, cold and sour. But to appreciate the "cloud, when I look back, it is behind me,

Green dew enters the realm of "no" and has to come to China. The humidity in Taiwan Province Province is very high, and the cloudiest atmosphere is the misty artistic conception of rain. In the first two nights of the stream, the trees are fragrant, the elbows are cold at night, and the moist and green mountain shadows are resting on their pillows.

All is silent, sleeping like a fairy. After a night of rain in the mountains, I woke up the next morning. In the primitive silence when the rising sun did not rise, I walked all the way into the secret of the forest, facing the cold of the night, stepping on the broken branches on the ground and the trickle of rain still flowing.

Dense, winding, step by step up the hill. The mountain at the head of the stream has dense trees and dense fog. The dense water vapor rises from Ran Ran at the bottom of the valley, sometimes thick and sometimes thin, and the transpiration is changeable and unpredictable. Only from the place where the fog breaks through the clouds and the sky can we see a half-peak that is hidden at first glance.

It is almost impossible to see the whole picture. Go up the mountain at least twice, and you can only play hide-and-seek with Xitoufeng in the white. Back in Taipei, the world asked, in addition to laughing without answering, pretending to be mysterious, in fact.

Impression is nothing more than mountains between nothingness. The scenery of China is shrouded in clouds and mountains hidden in water, giving people the charm of Song painting. The world may be Zhao's, but the landscape is rice. But after all, it's hard to say whether the three fathers and sons wrote the landscapes of China or whether the landscapes of China were just Song Like's paintings.

Rain is not only audible and amiable, but also audible. Listen to the cold rain. Listening to the rain, as long as it is not a rock-breaking typhoon and rainstorm, will always be an aesthetic feeling of hearing. In autumn on the mainland, whether it's raindrops dispersing phoenix trees,

Or the shower hits the lotus leaf, which always sounds a bit bleak, sad and sad. Today, I will be caged with a layer of sadness when I reminisce on the island. I will spare you a lot of pride and chivalry, and I am afraid I can't stand the wind and rain. one

Playing with teenagers and listening to the rain makes the red candle faint. Listening to the rain in middle age, the river in the boat is wide and the clouds are low. More than 30 bald monks listened to the rain, which was the pain of Song's death. The life of a sensitive soul: upstairs, by the river, in the temple, with cold rain beads.

All right. Ten years ago, he lost himself in a heartbreaking ghost rain Rain should be a drop of wet soul, who is calling outside the window.

Rain hits trees and tiles, and the rhythm is crisp and audible. Especially the clang on the roof tiles, belongs to China's ancient music. Huanggang, Yu Wang, is a roof tile, as broken as a rafter. It is said that living on the bamboo building, the rain sounds like a waterfall.

Bumixue is louder than broken jade, and the resonance effect is particularly good regardless of drum piano, poetry, chess score and throwing pot. Isn't that like living in a bamboo and a pipe? I'm afraid any fragile sound will be doubled and exaggerated, but it will make the ears allergic.

All right.

Rainy roof tiles, with wet streamers, are gloomy and gentle, with dim light and dark backlight, which is a low comfort to vision. As for the rain hitting the tiles, it is soft and heavy from far to near.

As a trickle flows down the tile trough and eaves, all kinds of tapping and sliding sounds are closely woven into a net, whose fingers are massaging the helix. "It's raining", the gentle gray beauty comes, and her cold hands touch the roof.

Counting black keys's grey key turned noon into dusk.

On the ancient continent, thousands of families are like this. More than 20 years ago, when I first came to this island, so did the Japanese-style tile houses. First, it was dark, the city was shrouded in huge ground glass, and the shadows were prolonged indoors.

Very deep. Then the cool water filled the space, and the wind whirled from every corner, feeling that the heavy breathing on every roof was shrouded in gray clouds. It's raining, and the lightest percussion is beating the city. The vast roof is in the distance.

Near, one after another guqin, the fine and dense rhythm, has its own softness and kindness in monotony, bit by bit, like fantasy, if the child is in the cradle, a familiar nursery rhyme wobbles and the mother sings.

Nasal and guttural sounds. Still in Zeguo Water Town in the south of the Yangtze River, a large basket of green mulberry leaves was chewed by hundreds of silkworms, chewing with mouthparts and mouthparts. Rain is coming, tiles say so, and a tile says 100 billion yuan.

Wa said: "Play lightly, repeat, knock slowly, knock intermittently in a rainy season, improvise from fright to Qingming, coldly play elegies on scattered graves and sing hundreds of billions of watts."

Old-fashioned houses listen to the sound of rain in April, and it rains day and night in Huang Meiyu, and the ten-day month stretches. Wet sticky moss has been invading the root of the tongue and the bottom of my heart from the stone steps In July, listening to the typhoon and rain on the ancient roof, I lost my sight overnight.

After the fight, a thousand layers of boiling heat waves at the bottom of the sea were carried by strong winds, overturning the whole Pacific Ocean and then pressing heavily on his short eaves, and the whole sea rushed over his scorpion shell. Otherwise, it is a thunderstorm night, and you can listen to Jiegu in the white smoke tent.

Another call, the torrential rain is coming, the powerful electric pipa is very uneasy, and the fright of playing roof tiles is about to rise. Otherwise, the oblique northwest rain is obliquely brushed on the window glass, and the whip is wide on the wall.

On the banana leaves, a cold wave overflowed, and autumn moistened the old home.