It's been a long time since I made a cup of tea and turned over a book in a quiet environment. Ink Huizhou, borrowed from the library.

Ink-like scenery and speaking words haunt the dream of Jiangnan when I was young. I always thought that the small awning boat, like a dreamy white wall and black tiles, and the plum rain that floated around and I didn't know when it would stop, could only appear in my dreams dating back to ancient times. Unexpectedly, there are still so many historical evidences in Huizhou's quaint ancient villages.

I watched it for an hour and stopped many times. That's not my hometown. The bitterness of my hometown makes me sigh. Picture after picture, like a young boudoir, miss me gently, cry and keep on.

Second,

I began to realize that I didn't know much about my hometown. Even though the ancient Huizhou belonging to the south of the Yangtze River was in the south of Anhui and I was in the northernmost part, I never realized the heaviness of that period of history. I want to step into the pure land in that dream and regain the charm of an ancient Huizhou rhyme. But after all, it can only be delayed for a few days and nights.

I closed my eyes and suddenly felt that Huizhou, which stayed in the years, was like a melancholy poet. He was lounging in a rocking chair, frowning slightly and thinking. That kind of calm, firm and unspeakable sadness will always make people's hearts thump.

Want to settle there, alienate the prosperity and quick success of the city; I want to live there, clinging to the unchangeable reserve and poverty for thousands of years; Want to settle there, put up a awning and shake it in the floating life. Playing the flute in my spare time. During the day, please your wife and children, but at night, please yourself.

Do you really want to be alone with depression? I asked myself. How to answer this question? Now, I am familiar with the atmosphere of old Huizhou, and I have a lot of complex in my heart. I feel sad in the afterglow of the sunset. But there is a hope that I can't bear to give up the person I love. Ran Ran kitchen smoke filled with the call to go home. Only in dreams.

Three,

White walls and blue tiles. It'd better rain a little. Raindrops, like smoke, float when the wind blows, making it easier to express feelings. Qingshi Street gradually turned into a painting, leaving no blank space. The quiet scenery is full. Perhaps there are too many things deposited in history, which makes people so obsessed with the image of ice blue.

Ripples are silent, and cold and warm know themselves.