miefajia

The collective fuzzy

Huge river carrying expedition set sail vessel, however the ship come know lighthouse direction is most attached to the bottom of my heart harbour; Bearing the weight of the wings of pigeons fly on the blue sky, but the direction of the house is so clear. Like the river flowing in the attachment, passing in the sky, when a familiar term in mind, always in your heart throb.
Used to be so surprised at the beauty of the leaves fall, a shrine to the perfection of beauty. Branches and the land only a few meters of distance, the balm resolutely break, however, roaring, the wind it down; As a car crushed it, it still sing, flies in the direction of the root outpouring of beauty. I asked fallen leaves, fallen leaves not language, it is made up of inner feelings, slowly appreciate.
Until that year, sunshine, happy and touched the heart a little excited, the spring breeze warm, but blow across the bottom of my heart faint bitter, in front of cypress trees rustle, swaying the heart, the day we moved into the city. Gone in the morning that glittering and translucent dewdrop, gone smoked bean tea transpiration in the culture of classical elegance, drifting away under the spring rain walked with an umbrella walking in the field ridge. Boring waiting in front of the car, watched the sun set off the beautiful image of the house, and then forgotten memory in the serene stand in the yard, in the faded away in the direction of the, I shed tears, obsessively, flowing from the bottom of my heart.
In a strange city so far away from his hometown, everything is so new, but in the heart seems to be more and more homesick. At this time I seem to really experience leaves from the branches of dedication, is a strength, is the power of the root. Lin yutang in an essay has given me deep solace. As a child he lived in the gulangyu island, close to the sea, he and his father often listen to the sea at the seaside thoughtfully, he always asked his father sea on the other side of the picture, his yearning for, finally he flew over the sea, to the sea side is still lingering in his heart deeply. He said: "when I fly across the sea, feel it is very small, and when I am in the sea of ahead in the hometown, it is so suddenly so far." Just a word is so meaningful, because homesickness is the most beautiful language in the world.
Every creature has its root, pulling it a piece of silk, flowing people ask the most beautiful feelings. It's on the border of Peru and Bolivia have a lake titicaca, there lived a group of wu lu, above on the day of month dou turn to him the how many spring and autumn period still live on a floating island, when the Inca civilization gradually, when the greenhouse effect, he still insist on, they said: "that is the root growth of waters, is can't afford to pull, don't move."
That's how simple it is so touching words, with the desire, so looking for attachment with irrepressible, back to the familiar land, hand holding a cup of green tea smoked bean, pacing in township asked trail, feeling the dense filled with the fragrance of the soil moisture, like mass of tiy is lovely and at that moment I felt I was melted. With pull up roadside wild flowers, I marvelled at the root of the green, is that it generates a gorgeous colour, then I found have been looking for the answer.
Youth, I was just about to set sail, a book, a cup of tea, the transpiration and affectionately nostalgia, in the bottom of my heart has always been the lighthouse direction as I come here.