Not all trees are sure to succeed, and not all roads have forks.

A breeze blew me from one intersection to another.

An old tree is like an old man. In their eyes, the world has no color, and those noises and complexities can no longer attract their attention. In their eyes, the sky has only some colors.

My life may be these unruly trees, growing wantonly, floating like clouds in pale yellow dust and warm sunshine.

No one will remember me. As a tree, there is no need to remember these things. The soil remembers all this. Everything a tree once carried, the soil carries, unless it dies, the soil will be its last smile.

No one knows how long a person's life is, and no one knows what a tree will grow into in the end. Maybe it won't turn into wood in the end, maybe it will only leave a remnant leaf in the end. But please remember the annual rings, the years engraved, every moment of growth, our helplessness and silence.

I don't mean getting old, but life fades away one by one. When I was a child, in order to eat the fruit on the tree, I always climbed to the top of the tree before it matured. I can't wait to pick the green fruit and taste the faint bitterness with me. When I think of these wonderful little happiness in my childhood, I will feel a little sad. These fruit trees that once brought me warmth and coveted have already been cut down and burned to ashes. Thinking of my own years, I ran aground like that, and one day my life will disappear like a tree. After many years, will we still eat those green fruits as we did when we were children, and will we laugh alone when we think of those innocent years? As time goes by, we grow old like fireworks.

We can't control the growth of trees, nor can we know the length of life.

But we can't let the mind be barren. When I am lonely, I sit under the tree and feel the tree's jumping growth and freedom of life, and feel the tree's happiness and sadness. "In the past, the willow tree moved, and Yi Yi Hannan. It looks like it will fall off today, and Jiangtan is very sad. If the tree is still like this, why are people inferior? " From green leaves to leaves, the ups and downs of life, how can a tree's life not be a person's life? We grow up like a tree, and eventually we will fall down like a tree and lie on the ground. Life is a process of drifting away. Sunglow and sunset just turn around.

Under the tree, it is very quiet. The ground looks bigger than the sky. Heart, but farther than the sky. People always want to catch up with the growth of a tree with their whole life's vitality and catch up with it with their whole life's efforts. There are very few people who can last. The sunshine that was once full of hands has become a single book day by day. We gradually understand a tree in time, but we can't understand ourselves. People who can really get out of their own limitations can hardly get out of their own destiny.

We only hope that our life can be like the sunshine by the water, with warm ripples; Can be like a tree, blocking some cold winds; Like fireflies at night, they can light the way forward. ...

Express one's life feelings

Life is a blue sea, and you and I are blossoming waves, chasing and laughing, and enjoying ourselves.

Life is a vast sky, and you and I are white clouds, embracing gracefully and drifting with the wind.

Life is an immortal book. You and I use the pen of life to express our feelings and compose the song of life.

Life is like an espresso. You and I taste bitterness and fragrance.

Life is like a ship full of sails. You and I will go ahead and cut the waves.

The years of life are like a string of pearls, and you and my youth are so bright.

We love life as much as we cherish the bright stars on the horizon, and we love life as much as we are obsessed with the fragrance of blooming flowers in the garden.

The journey of life is never straight, and regrets are always with us. There are a lot of troubles in life, a lot of warmth, and a lot of people who miss them, but they can only be quietly remembered in their hearts and slowly let them be quiet. Because we have to face the reality and continue to sail hard to the boundless sea of life.

We are both passers-by and messengers of life. No matter how long the sun shines, life is like mail, because life is unbearable and life refuses too many comments.

We should cherish every stage of life, and every stage is embedded with the steps we have taken.

Childhood is a colorful dream, youth is a beautiful painting, youth is a romantic poem, middle age is a lyrical prose, and old age is a set of books full of life philosophy.

We all stand on the ups and downs of life horizon, looking for our own life coordinates.

On the stage of life, let's always catch up with the times in the canoe of life!

Yemadu

When I hold a fishing fire in the moonlit night and wave goodbye to the old boatman standing at the bow, like a traveler who wanders around the world, carrying heavy bags away from you, why do you keep combing the aquatic plants swallowed silently on the shore with your swift river? Moisten the wild flower's eyes with a drop of crystal dew.

In a tent in a ravine, there lived an elderly grandmother. The girl who stayed on the grassland guarded the growing sheep with a whip. In her eyes, will I fly proudly over the top of the snowy mountain like Shan Ying in my life? The kitchen smoke is a long streamer, and thousands of miles of Wan Li are tied with the continuous blessings of their loved ones.

Crossing the Ili River, crossing the western Tianshan Mountains and thousands of dangerous beaches, how can we swim across every river in our life journey? How can I find every ferry that takes me to the other side, but I often get lost in the vast sea of smoke?

The wild horse crossed the wild horse. It turned out that the wild horse was like a group of bloody men standing upright on the rolling shore of the waves, burying their heads in booze and whistling in the sky. Suddenly, a hurricane rose into the sky, split a waterway and roared off. The torn water is still flying like a wild horse.

The ancient Ili River runs day and night, and the deceased is like this, looking back and staring, crossing the wild without a boat. The old boatman of that year has long been interpreted as a beautiful legend, a rainbow-like bridge across the moat. As the sun sets, the old cattle grazing across the bridge, and the leisurely sheep overflow the top of the bridge like snow-white waves. The girl who drew water under the bridge, flashing colorful skirts, took away the sunset glow. But I am still like a male wild horse, galloping on the shore, eager for a brave rider in the wind and rain, urging this horse to cross the wild horse of life again and again.