The net of memory converges the scissors of reality. The cruelty of reality is a clumsy tailor, cutting the beautiful picture in memory! The beautiful picture in memory is like a dream. Standing on the bank of the river which has been far away from home for years, you can see the scene, the appearance of the river and the appearance of Hailai River. You can feel that it is a river and the old traces left on both sides. A tiny stream of water sobbed, like a bright red blood flowing out of the eyes of the Earth. The cold front like red blood pierced my heart. The river on my face is more turbulent than it. Every river has a story. The splashing spray is innocent and naughty faces one by one. The Naughty Boy is like a fish, hiding in the water, a distance of ten meters away, sliding like a Loach, a group of naughty children are very like a group of wild ducks, the happy river water, jumping off the array of innocent. A Trichosanthes tree with the shape of rainbow is about three meters high, stretching out of the River diagonally, and there are two branches of Sapium trees beside it, which are about five meters high from the water surface. These three trees, it is the dream of a group of naughty children, jumping into the dream of becoming the world diving champion in the Olympic Games. The river is slowly, gentle and strict encouragement: jump down bravely, jump, fly into the dream. The immature figures climbed up the trees one by one, and the ugly and inferior posture was more like the shadow of broken dreams. They sank down, rapidly sank down, and bloomed a piece of water. Occasionally, some people, with a long bitter face, rubbed their red belly which was beaten by the water with their hands, burst of mocking laughter spinning in the water. The river reluctantly shook its head, gently touching and kneading this clumsy urchin. The song of laughter floated from the tree again! A piece of Cyan Stone, two pieces of red stone, about 1.5 meters long, sleeping on the shore. The Moss is dark, and little silt solidifies on it, like the freckles on the old man’s face. It is also like a string of tears criticizing the endless greed of human nature. A tube of spring water as big as tears, wailing and wailing like abandoned babies, logging off the source, how long can it last under the hot sunlight? Leaving traces of the river. Maybe the dust covered its appearance in a flash. The story of this river can only flow in dictation. Beautiful and clear. Wishes! Memory will forget this river. Dragonflies remember it, frogs remember it, trees growing along the river and bamboos growing along the river remember it. The epitaph they gave to the River: it was called the river, but it died in the hot sun. The birds among the flying trees and bamboo branches also gave a hint of sadness, wailing over the river. Once, the fathers of the birds planted the beauty of this river for their hearts: on the shore, there were always beautiful and kind girls playing with clothes, telling sweet stories in their hearts. A group of young daughters-in-law, using the wooden mallets in their hands on the rocks, sorted out the tedious days. Under the peaceful expectation, the smooth skin grew into streams, knock out an eternal village. Still waters run deep life more! Groups of water ducks swam among the cloud trees and bamboo shadows. Naughty fish kissed their flippers, and then ran away as fast as possible with the strength of breast-feeding. The Kingfisher stood in a quiet corner, patrolling its country as a king, singing the vitality of the morning, treasuring the colorful clouds in the western sky and whispering about the new first month of April. ,,, the network of memory meets the sharp scissors of reality, the broken picture! The river like tears and a flickering lamp are about to disappear in the oral description. 2013.5.3

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