The heavy snow comes with the cold winter, and the streets seem to be silver, so bright and brilliant. Long icicles hung in front of the eaves like crystal daggers, and the breath of pedestrians turned into white smoke.
In winter, goose feather-like snow falls in succession. The snow on the ground is thick and soft; Snow falls on the house, white, loose and soft; The trees were covered with snow, which bent the branches. The sun shines brightly on the snow-capped mountains.
In winter, the outdoor willow covered with frost and snow is covered with tree hangings, like silver bars hanging on trees, which is particularly spectacular.
In winter, although there are no charming birds and flowers in spring, no spectacular lightning and thunder in summer, and no attractive rich fruits in autumn, there are also implicit beauty dedicated to nature.
In winter, a thin layer of snow, like a huge soft wool felt, covers this vast wasteland, shining with cold silver light.
The wind is sharper than before; The sun is often obscured by foggy headnets. It glows faintly, and the flow of gray clouds is dull and heavy. The cold is wrapped in the atmosphere. The wild vegetation trembled in horror, unable to drag its wings, constantly shaking off the increasingly exposed withered and incomplete Ye Er. The mountains in the distance are like the embers of a big fire. They burn here and rot there. Everything changed color and became haggard and sad. (Yan Lu's breathing)
Just after 4 o'clock in the afternoon, the sun has put away its faint light, as if afraid of the cold, hiding in the clouds as thick as cotton tires.
Just sent away the cool autumn, winter seems to come in a hurry. Winter especially likes to play tricks on people, and always comes to you quietly, so that you can feel the breath of winter unconsciously. ...
In the cold winter, the river changed its old excitement and seemed to fall asleep peacefully.
Hoo-",the wind roared, the trees shook in the wind, and the branches were whipped in the air like wild dancing whips.
Flowers withered, Ye Er withered, gray clouds covered the sky, and the forest was very sad. Then it snowed, and the white winter blanket covered the earth. (Wang's "Regret for the Past")
The wind is cold. Bare trees, like bald old people, can't stand the northwest wind and sway in the cold wind.
In the middle of winter, the north wind is cold, silver-gray clouds are galloping in the sky, the cold current is rolling, and a heavy snow is brewing.
The sun in the middle of winter seems to be afraid of getting cold. Wearing thick clothes can't give off heat.
The afterglow of the sunset lazily climbed over the white and smooth skin of the mountain peak; Warmly shining on this quiet land, the clouds on the horizon drift by, as if following the footsteps of their companions; The blue lake slowly flows, and there are several boats across the lake, vaguely flashing some fishing fires. Maybe when the scenery is too lonely, I will sing, singing with the lake, taking me to recall that unforgettable past, with a little sadness, but when I turned away, I saw the other side of the mountain. That's where the sun rises again. Maybe spring will come tomorrow!
That winter, it was cold, which made people have a sore nose and a headache, and their feet were like two pieces of ice.
On the twelfth day of winter, the windows were blocked by snow, and the ice valves hung in rows on the eaves like translucent small crystal columns.
In the cold weather, frozen snow, the whole world has become a big refrigerator, the mountains are shivering with cold, the rivers are frozen stiff, and the air seems to have solidified.
Pine trees stand luxuriantly in the white snow, swaying with the cold northwest wind, making a shrill roar, as if to deliberately despise winter.
He walked for a while, and the clouds of hot air from his nostrils condensed into layers of frost flowers, frozen around his fur hat, like a silver helmet on his face.
The weather is gloomy, and the sky is thick, low and gray-yellow turbid clouds. The northeast wind roared and ran wildly in the wilderness. It seems to be holding a sword, which can pierce a tight leather coat, not to mention the exposed face, and it is scratched again and again, and the pain is unbearable.
Looking back, the past is like smoke. Sadness has gone with the wind. The mood is like lilacs in the rain, with a touch of melancholy. Only a faint purple still lingers in the dream. In fact, many times, we did not deliberately taste when we experienced it, but spent many years picking up the fragments of memory and savoring it. The taste of happiness is engraved in memory, but more is endless disappointment. There is only a sigh.
At night, the bright moon is in the sky, cold light penetrates into the bone marrow, and the cheeks are like ice. The scenery under the moon is frozen and cannot be transferred. The freezing clouds in Leng Yue are so cold! As heavy as iron, everything in the sky and on the ground is cold except my own bones and flesh. How I wish I were in the same situation. (Bing Xin, "Send a Little Reader")