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Words fall in the west.
Flowers wither, flowers fly all over the sky, and red incense is pitiless.
Let's see the residual flowers of spring gradually falling, which is the time when beauty dies of old age.
There are no sad songs for me, and the flowers are forgotten.
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In March, it was misty and rainy in the south of the Yangtze River, and apricot flowers were blooming. In Jinshan Temple in Zhenjiang, a young couple knelt down with their baby in their arms and made a wish to send Guanyin forward. The man was only in his mid-twenties, dressed in white and with a clean and comely face. Women are only twenty. Although it is not beautiful, it is also "but the petals are like her face and the willow leaves are like her eyebrows."
After entering the incense, the couple went straight to a nun who was playing wooden fish next to the Buddha statue. The man bowed his head; "The teacher recently? Can the teacher be satisfied with my naming the child Yi Yi? " The nun was shocked, opened her eyes and waited for a while to look at the teenagers around her. After a long time, she resumed her indifference: "A monk doesn't care about the world. What does the child's name have to do with poverty? " This time, it was the teenager who was stuck.
For a long time, three people didn't speak again. "Teacher, take care. We will visit again another day. " The woman's voice broke the silence, and the figure holding the baby girl seemed to bow its head. "Donor, poor monk Ni is not a Buddha, so you don't have to bow down." The nun glanced at the girl, her tone still cold. The couple didn't speak again and quietly walked out of the temple gate.
At this point, the nun just now is not cold. ...