I went downstairs with a jumping mat. Because of an autumn rain last night, the air was full of the fragrance of the earth. I found a vacant lot without water, stood at the starting point, and looked at the white line that had broken through for a long time, and my heart was full of a little pain.
Dream, struggle, struggle. Most of the endorsements of the third grade have quietly come to us and changed us unconsciously.
Shake your arms, push, and take off. A set of familiar movements unfolded, and I looked up, far from the dazzling white line. Shaking his head, he returned to the starting point and launched a new round of challenges.
The wind is getting stronger and stronger, and the yellow leaves struggle hard, but they fall back into the soil.
"Hoo ... hoo ..." I swallowed the slightly damp air, looked at the white line and couldn't help thinking. Did I hit a bottleneck? Do you want to have a rest first? Bullet jumped again, but every time, it was an unexpected failure. I can't help thinking, what's it like to cross the white line? I must taste it.
Day, slowly dark down, a few lights have been lit, flickering.
"I am practicing, and I am in the third grade." Passing neighbors sighed slightly.
It's grade three now.
As if suddenly awakened by the rainstorm, I suddenly stood up and looked at the unbroken achievements, and my heart was firmly fermented bit by bit. Once, just once, let the goshawk soar in the blue sky and let the caterpillar break into a butterfly, not only for its own dream, but also for the pursuit of Excellence in the past three years.
The beautiful arc finally fell, and when I turned around, the white line was particularly dazzling because of me.
The moonlit night is slightly cool, and the corners of the mouth rise.
Keep fighting and constantly surpass yourself. Really, it's cool.