What happened in Jiangnan water town

An essay describing a water town in the south of the Yangtze River.

Blue and white porcelain lamps are inexhaustible, leaving a fragrance on the lips. For a long time, the sweetness of the tongue seems to cover a pool of transparent green, and through the warm jade cup wall, the fingertips are wrapped with a little warmth. In front of Tomb-Sweeping Day, the new leaves stretched smoothly, the waist was soft and the dance was graceful, which made people reluctant to linger. Humanity: "Tea can clear the heart." A pot of Qingming, finely ironed and fragrant, accompanied by Jiangnan for thousands of years.

The deep moss is enchanting, the bluestone is winding, and the song of the girl who plays the yarn strings up pages of ancient and beautiful poems. Jiangnan is soft-hearted, the drizzle moistens things silently, and wheatgrass is delicate and shy. The spring rain never rains heavily, only vaguely makes pedestrians wet their clothes, and the wind blows cold on their faces, gently brushing their cheeks with affectionate floes. The nameless flower clings to the wall, which is easy to be ignored, but it also makes people feel pity. Because, this is Jiangnan. Jiangnan tenderness, Wu Nong soft-spoken Jiangnan woman, delicate hands, with soft brocade, fine stitches, with a gentle smile, sewn into sweet thoughts.

Jiangnan is really a place where stories happen too easily. Yu Di and Chang Xiao can't finish a song of spring flowers and autumn moon; Harp, pipa, can not complete the night wind and snow lingering. The woman's mouth is embroidered with peach hearts, and she smiles skillfully. Men are excellent in literary talent and plain in robes. Tasting wine and writing poems, Tao loves like oxygen, and has entangled several generations of infatuation and resentment, leaving many regrets. However, many years later, we sat on a small bamboo stool and listened to grandma's story about a talented woman and her. Understandably, a sigh came from his hand holding his little face. The past is over, and the story of Jiangnan will continue.

Jiangnan is a water town. Memory is always like a drizzle. The rain gathered in the eaves and became crystal clear, and it took a long time to drip down along the bird pattern on the ripple. Children always put their hands out of the window, waiting for that "snapping" sound, a cool roll, and a beautiful little splash blooming in the tender palm. Black tiles and white walls, doors with peeling red paint are quietly suppressed. No one can tell whether there was a peach blossom season. Long streets and long walks, will you meet a girl as sad as lilac?

Time is like water, washing away the glory of the south of the Yangtze River, the singing and dancing, and the night trip of the original boat. Time flies, washing away too much praise that Jiangnan was given that did not belong to her. Jiangnan is Jiangnan, and Jiangnan is just Jiangnan, so indifferent, so quiet, with a smile.

The sound of the oars faded away, and I leaned against the shoulders of the south of the Yangtze River. I think I only saw the corner of the south of the Yangtze River. I said, I can't forget the beauty of Jiangnan. The mist is dense, and the sunset glow reflects the face of Jiangnan.