It is said that it is already spring now, and there is no sign of spring blooming. The four seasons in the north are like a lazy man who has nothing to do. Changes are just wrapped tightly or open his skirt. The snow on the ground was crushed and crawled under every footprint, licking the ankles of spring. Breath in the breath of spring, breath out the cold wind in winter. It condenses into white flowers, hanging in the brow. Winter has old. The snow in Altay was a pure girl, and that white dress was always reluctant to be discarded. The snow in Altay was a mother without complaint. The spring was hidden under the white skirt and bred secretly. If snowflake also has roots, it must be stuck in the clouds; If snowflake also has stems and leaves, it must be broken in the spring breeze. The change of seasons is a tangled mood. Losing anything is also a pity, including the cold that I am used. How bright the flowers will wither and wither, but you still turn into water. Alive, so sad; Dead, so gentle.

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