The red scarf is frowning at the bottom of the pomegranate tree, and fragrant jade is exposed on the branches of the divination tree. The smoky wind blows from the south, blowing the flames towards the high hall.
The half-rolled Xiang curtain is late, and the bamboo shade is uneven and the willow shade is green. The red silk is in full bloom, the hollyhocks are blooming, and the gold bombs are tired and the oranges are ripe.
Duanyang Festival is a prosperous festival, and piles of corn millet are piled up to reflect the fragrance. As soon as he traveled to the far end of the world, his horse's head was driven away by the mortal world.
Sometimes I fly around Qiantang in my dreams, and this scene is still in my mind. This summer, I am living in Jinyang, where the climate in the north and south is extremely hot and cool.
It has been nearly May in Qinghe, and the grass and trees are still worried about themselves. The phenology of the hometown is invisible, and the sky is filled with dust and grass.
The clouds and mountains can be seen for thousands of miles, and the small buildings can be seen in the sky.