C252 Radix Coriariae

Autumn

— — Verdant Bamboo Language

The Garden is a name we call it, because no one knows its true name, and its origins are unknown even to those old men who have experienced the baptism of time and the vicissitudes of their faces. It always kept its mysterious veil, and our deepest impression of it was that it accompanied us through one juvenile day after another.

As time went by, the number of times I visited the garden also gradually decreased. It was probably because I was too busy, I consoled myself. At that time, he was secretly thinking that if he had time in the future, he would definitely go to the garden to have a look. However, the final result was just thinking about it.

The changing of seasons, every season for the garden is the most special season, under the magical magic of the garden can each season's most distinctive characteristics to become fully revealed, showing each season's unique style. It was autumn now, and the voice in my heart sounded again. I knew it was time to go to the garden. It was time to go and say hello to the garden. I came to the morning garden when I had nothing to do that day. The late autumn morning was often accompanied by layers of mist, and today was no exception. The entire garden was shrouded in mist.

As he continued to walk deeper, a small patch of forest gradually appeared in front of him. Perhaps it was because of the fog, but from afar, he still felt a little dreamy. The memories of my childhood seemed to bring me back to that pure time when there was no network, when our hearts were as pure as a waterfall, and as full of vigor and vitality. When he thought of this, he could not help but quicken his pace, wanting to look for traces of his childhood.

However, after they entered the forest, all sorts of thoughts were ruthlessly poured onto the scene in front of them. The fallen trees leaned against each other and laid in front of them. There were all kinds of weeds around the dead tree, and a desolate canvas appeared in front of them. This is probably the garden's punishment for us, so that we no longer see the lively old world, the garden is using actual action to tell us of its loneliness. '' I thought.

The wind blew the mist into my face. It cooled a little, and I turned to look around. One person, one forest, one mist … they were indeed a bit similar to Pu Songling's Ramadan. When he thought of this, he felt that it was quite funny. He shook his head and continued his journey.

Walking out of the forest is a small river, slowly walking along the small river, autumn frost covered the small dry grass by the small river, from time to time, creak, creak, creak sound, it formed a unique rhythm, along with this unique rhythm, I seemed to see myself as a child, also in the early morning, also in this garden, also coming to this small river, doing the same action, I still remember thinking in my head at that time of why such a sound appeared, why the earth became so stiff in winter. At the time, I had fantasized about being a great scientist, answering my own questions with what I had learned. Children's minds are always thinking of all kinds of things, will have many different dreams, but when we really grow up, slowly think back to childhood dreams I wonder what kind of feeling that would be. Do you not forget your first wish? Do you wish to follow your own dream and fulfill the secret joy of your childhood? Or do you regret wasting your time and running on a road that is completely different from your own childhood's dream? I think that everyone will have an answer of their own in their hearts.

As he thought about it, he unconsciously walked to the end of the garden. Thinking about what he had seen today made his heart feel a lot more desolate. He wanted to leave immediately, but an intense thought would always appear in his heart, 'Since I'm here, I can't be rude and don't say goodbyes.' Forced by this desire, he turned around. Looking at the path I've just walked, a ray of sunlight breaks through the clouds and shines on the garden, I know that this is the 'Dingdar phenomenon', I clearly told myself in my heart. Under the sunlight, the mist slowly dispersed, and a small flower bud gradually appeared on a branch with dried skin. I instantly thought, 'It's a tea plum,' and I knew that the tea plum was — the freshness of the tea, the modesty and purity of the plum, but I knew that it was immortal.