Drops of soft water walk on the winter eaves like strings of ice, like the scales of a house exposed to the sunlight. This crystal clear analysis conveys the profound feeling of winter and adds a strong atmosphere to it. Suddenly, a few drops of melted ice water fell into the dimples of the bluestone. Oh, this is the sunlight pecking at the cold.

A few Tang poems that have been repeatedly recited, resting on the withered branches of winter, like ancient alleys, will move to the two sides of spring with the passage of the solar term - shallow homesickness on the left bank and classical longing on the right bank. When the warmth sings on the street, another prosperous Tang Dynasty arrives at the spring branches.

The cold moon that emerged from the mountain carried a clear glow and sprinkled cold air all over. This tightly wiped away a handful of time, shuttling through too many worldly affairs. A certain lament touched the clock at the top of the tower, and the distant sound was particularly isolated.

Winter wheat has already subtracted excess thoughts and entered a state of meditation in a simple and clear way. As long as you pay attention to the pilgrimage and watch with peace of mind, it will blend into a heavy summer. The full ears are like solemn Zen language.

The three persimmon trees at the village stand silently in the cold frost as symbols of the region. The persimmon tree loves its fellow villagers and the villagers who come and go. They rise and fall year after year with their hoes and sickles, waving their shovels to solidify the width and thickness of their days. These scenes move the trees deeply and they are willing to silently accompany each other in the village.

The parents who stayed by the stove for the winter, who had worked hard for a bowl of rice, are now deeply moved by the quality of the bowl of rice. Every New Year, my mother would let the meat aroma in the stove fill the courtyard, while my father would write with ink: "Six accumulations prosper, five grains dominate.".

In these long winter days, I have forgotten the hustle and bustle of the lamp, grasped my pen and chanted my own contentment. In the beautiful artistic conception of language, I have gained the warmth of my soul. Tasting sweet peace in the silence of falling one after another.

Carrying a love for winter with a graceful mind, carrying an epiphany that winter events have been corrected. Carrying the beauty of winter, I have a warm smile and dance to dance to the tune of clothing. Carrying a longing for winter, dreaming of a peach blossom bouquet at dawn, invited to see the spring scenery of mountains and rivers melting like sugar.