Chapter 18 The Northland is a vast expanse (1)

The tears of the reed flower are like the snowflakes outside the window, one after another. It was nine o'clock before she woke up from the lazy Sunday morning light.The light blue curtains are not as lively and lively as in the past.Lu Hua felt the fog in front of her eyes, and she immediately had a feeling, which prompted her to turn over and get out of bed immediately, ran to the window, and raised the curtain—— It was snowing, sure enough.The campus is white.Those independent and uninhibited poplar trees, with a few scattered dead leaves floating on the branches yesterday, whispered silently to the dark blue sky, but they were plucked by snowflakes all night, ruined The rustling sound of autumn.Every branch and every branch of them is covered with abundant snow flakes, like a ball of wool.Looking from a distance, it looks like a group of beautiful and pure little angels, singing Christmas songs, flying to the world.

Heaven and earth are so harmonious.Luhua was moved by the atmosphere rendered by the turbulent yet peaceful snowflakes in front of her eyes.She felt that a heavy heart was being gently lifted up by the refreshing snowflakes in her body, and she was swimming leisurely into a fresh and bright realm.Then, her tears started to glisten and fall down in a charming and charming way. The snow fell harder and harder.She put on a light yellow pullover sweater, wiped away the tears from her face, leaned over to the round mirror with a carved brown frame on the desk, and nodded her nose: You are a fool, you are a poor little Lin Daiyu.In the end, putting two faint smiles into the shallow dimples, she felt that she was satisfied.So, I opened the drawer, took out the diary, and started writing:

I saw my father again in my dream last night.He seemed to have changed his tastes, stopped drinking, and looked much more kind.He lives in an ancient and remote desert, a world without people and birdsong.He fell to the ground.The thorns grow on all sides, and they extend infinitely, like a huge net, covering him inside.I saw him struggling in pain, and he stretched out his big brown hands and kept raising them above his head.The pair of big hands suddenly became bigger and bigger, and the fingers became longer and longer, like two towering red pines stretching their vigorous branches, silently facing the blue sky from afar.

His hands are horrible.What is he trying to catch?Is it to catch the white clouds in the blue sky, or to catch the blue sky?The white clouds are illusory, and the blue sky is hypocritical, because it always uses the sun to appear pure and bright.Dad, you don't have to catch them. Woke up and it was snowing.This is the first snow this winter.I cried.Is it the continuation of the emotion of the dream, or the discovery of the soul, the release of depression, or a kind of nature? My heart is also at a loss.Umm, can you tell me? She put the cap on and stuffed the pen into the pen holder.Her pen container was full, and she herself wondered where there were so many pens.So she pulled them out one by one, and in a short while five were eliminated.The pen holder is much looser, and so is her heart.It was so loose that she seemed to smell the mellow fragrance of snow and the warm and bewildered breath of Mum that made her dazed.

Mother will always be the same.Her face is late evening.There were two deep brown scars on her forehead, as if a sled had been slid on them all year round.Mum has climbed on her body many times and licked the wind and dust in the scar with her pink smooth tongue.Mum's eyes were filled with tears, but Mother's eyes were always foggy, and the eyes behind the fog would never shine.But Mum and the stars in the sky always have moving eyes. She is seven years old, mother told her.Once when it was snowing heavily, Dad picked up a load and went down the mountain.She and her mother collect firewood every day.At that time, she felt for the first time that people had better voices than birds, and she could cry and laugh when she heard the songs sung by her mother.

A flower blooms on the edge of the cliff, One road leads to all directions. The flowers wither and fall into the deep valley, There is no way to go around the world.