Suddenly, it began to rain in Mao Mao. Rain, like thousands of silver threads, falls from the sky. Like cow hair, like needles, like filaments, densely woven diagonally. The top of the mountain is covered with a faint thin layer of smoke, like fog and rain, like rain and fog, intertwined and lingering. Gently, I close my eyes and immerse myself in the rain that seems to be blocked by cobwebs. The wind caressed my cheek and the rain ran through my hair. Light as absorbent cotton, soft as the rain of reed flowers, so thin and soft, laughing and dancing in the breeze. So floating, floating ... looking into the distance, through the soft rain silk woven into smoky spring yarn, I saw a powder cloud with no edge. Near, near, the flower bed is full of begonia, and I am submerged in the pink sea of begonia. There are so many flowers, one next to the other, leaving no gaps. It seems that every petal has a new life trembling, this beautiful begonia flower! Some of them leaned against the leaves and greedily sucked the glittering raindrops, some squeezed and squeezed to the front, showing off their prosperity in the wind and rain, some danced gracefully among the green leaves, showing their joy, and some looked up at the sky and talked with the raindrops.
It rained heavily, so I immediately ran into the gazebo to hide from the rain. There is a lake outside the pavilion. The lake is green. Under the embellishment of rain, Miss Chun seems to add a ripple to that green dress with a brush. The lake is still shrouded in smoky mist. There are several willows by the lake. They sway gently in the wind and rain, stroking the green hairs for fear of hurting the newly picked buds.
The rain finally stopped!
Everything around seems to have just taken a bath, so fresh and bright.
At first, it was very quiet around. Then, suddenly, a bird called. A little sparrow flapped its wings and flew out, stopping at the treetop for a moment, stunned by the footsteps of a little boy. Then it fluttered its wings and flew into the nest, chirping and screaming. Maybe this little sparrow is telling other sparrows what just happened in the nest!
Spring is full of vitality and hope, but isn't it even more so in the spring morning?