Villagers love to call reeds reeds and reed flowers reeds. I called it before I went to school. Even if I knew the scientific name, I used to call it that way. My impression of Reed has been very deep since I was young, because there are two large expanses of reeds that have been deeply embedded in my memory since I was young. A pond from the side of my backyard, full of reeds. The other side is from Huanghua Temple, a mile away from home. The temple has long disappeared, leaving behind a vast reed. Because these two reeds left a deep impression on me. In the future, every time I see a piece of reed, even a few reeds in a roadside ditch, it will cause me many distant memories. Although, the two reeds deep in the memory have long disappeared. Reeds, like everything in the world, will clearly mark the changes that they bring to themselves throughout the year. After the frost fell and the cold autumn came Newport 100S, I remembered the water wetlands, and the endless reeds in the wetlands. One Sunday, I told my photography-loving friends, let's go and take a look at the wetlands. Driving west, the scenery remains the same. Stopping and turning off, he turned his camera back and looked for the scenery that belonged to him. I was on the shore of independence, talking to those reeds in the setting sun and autumn, and staring at the reed flowers in the snowy background. I believe that these reeds, these reeds from the Book of Songs, and these aquatic plants also known as crickets, have been vivid plots in a long history for more than two thousand years. I know, there is a peerless beauty on the opposite side of the vast reed, waiting to meet me. In fact, to a large extent, it was because of the reeds that I remembered this wetland at a glance Newport Cigarettes. The farm saying says: The reeds are out of the ears, and the mosquitoes are out of breath. Reeds always begin to pale in autumn, falling like a snow. It uses cold tones to let the whole season go deep into the depths of autumn, and let the surroundings be cold and quiet slowly. The wind swayed from the reeds, and the reeds swelled and rolled like vast snow. The reeds are tall and dense, taller than humans, and too dense to count. In the reeds, there are always many unknown secrets, and there are always many innumerable lives hidden in them, water plants, water birds, breeze, and bright moon. Spring, summer, autumn and winter, old and sick. The wind reeds and the reeds sway. Traces of the once ravaged life were immediately sucked away by the wind of time. Around him, the autumn wind is full of. Aspens on the shore, colorful leaves. The autumn water is not dusty, and the stream looks exceptionally clean, and the still water is deep. I can hear the sound. The fallen leaves were affectionate, and they stepped on it, knowing that the sound was an echo of time. On the shore, I squatted down, holding up a handful of water. In the setting sun, I saw a cool handful of water flowing quietly between my palms, and then dripping slowly along my fingers. I heard the echo of time�� Tick-tick Tick-tick I like to leave the nature on earth, not to follow the planted landscape. When everything has gone, fortunately, there is this wetland, and this vast reed, and there are so many large reeds, so that we can come here to sit, meditate, pay homage, and remember, in the late autumn. The sound of the sounds of reed cooperation is an independent and stunning scenery. I stubbornly believe that the chapter of the Book of Songs in the ancient times was first opened from here Parliament Cigarettes, or from the side of the reed pond next to my backyard. At that time, it was dark, white dew was frost. At that time, the so-called Iraqi people were on the water side. The beauty, the peerless beauty, has been waiting, looking forward. She looked forward to the footsteps of the shore, and the young man in his dream. It is expected that Qiushui looks through, but what is expected is the falling flowers from far and near. Yiren is not old. For thousands of years, she has been like a wine of innocence, making people cherish the wind of drunken winds and waves, crossing time and space, blowing up high and low love. Missing like snow, vast. The layman's footsteps came forward, either drifting on the stream or sitting on the shore. Not all beauty is clear. Sometimes classical needs a desolation. For thousands of years, the reeds have not changed and still depend on the water. The reed flower is like a snow yesterday, and the reed flowers are full of autumn in the depths of memory. For many years, the season's wind has come and gone, I just want to stay in my memory, walk through the snow-like reeds, and listen to the singing of the streams.
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