The sunset in my

5 Августа 2019 г.
The sunset in my hometown is a long period of time, and it is also the bleak left behind after the excitement. The evening is late and the breeze is soft. The bright and colorful oil painting, full of sunflowers in the sun, is like a smiling face of a child. Holding a windmill, chasing a childlike dream, always chasing the place where the sun is falling, and will not stop. The child's figure is stretched by time, long, as if the child grew up. I walked through those dreams, walked through those laughter, walked through those little prides... After another round of sunset, one after another, dimly yellow, turned into a small time, witnessed the childээs memory in the hillside, one layer One layer, one circle, full of trees and grain. The hillsides of the hometown are as beautiful as the ladder [url=]Carton Of Cigarettes[/url]. The well water in the mountains overflowed and flowed to the foot of the mountain. People introduced rice into the rice fields through the ditch, which moistened the rice and vegetables. I have always heard that there is a pheasant on one side of the mountain and a hare on the other side [url=]Marlboro Gold[/url], but I have never seen it at that time. In the low and uneven houses, there will be Yan children in the spring and summer, whispering in the beams, the smoky smoky roofs, the sweaty straw hats in the fields, the trees, the crisp chickens, the bright dogs on the walls. Hey, the childrenээs chasing and frolicking, the old man with white hair in the rocking chair is full of kind smiles. All of them have flowed in the afterglow of the sun, like a picture of one after another, like a pole. Another page of the time When one day, the people of the hometown began to rush to the distance for their livelihood and went to the bustling hometown. Fr om then on, the windy month of the hometown is still the same, but the sunset in the evening is desolated little by little. Look: the wild grass on the mountain is growing wild in the years, there is no vegetable seedling in the field, and the field loses the rice fragrance. Nowadays, the path of the homeland can no longer be distinguished. Some are just a piece of collapsed roof beam and a piece of muddy wall. The bamboo trees on the front and back of the house are getting greener, and the white birch on the field is working hard towards the sky. I stand in the corner of this year, and the sunset makes me stretch, and I return to the time of the child, still holding the windmill. Chasing the evening sun, but it turned into a bleak time. I donээt know where the smoke has drifted. I donээt know which birdээs belly is in the cherry. I donээt know if there is any year in the peach blossom. Open all year round, I don't know that Tao Qian's love chrysanthemum is still fragrant. The sunset of the hometown is a long time, flowing through the walls of the house, flowing through the peach and plum blossoms, ripening the wheat waves in the countryside [url=]Marlboro Cigarettes[/url], and making the harvest golden. The sunset in my hometown is a long time, and the places wh ere the hooligans have changed have changed.
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