In March, there are apricot blossoms and misty rain.
Holding an oil-paper umbrella, stepping on a pair of peach wood clogs, carrying a bottle of light wine, and having a few leisurely moments, walk and stop along the peach blossom path by the stream.
The peach blossoms on the roadside were in bloom, and they were even more beautiful after being beaten by the rain. As the rain gradually became less intense, he found a peach tree in full bloom. He didn't mind the heavy rain and dew, so he sat down under the tree.
I poured the wine, took a sip, and looked at the mountains in the distance that were dyed ink by the rain. I drank and chanted: "Looking at the peach blossoms in a leisurely way, drunkenly leaning against the east wind and laughing like crazy."
He looked at the peach blossoms not far away, and thought that at this time, shouldn't there be a person of extraordinary splendor coming from the depths of the peach blossoms and saying in poetry: "Let me ask the returning geese if they know spring, and they are old acquaintances across the street."
He thought that that man had also held an oil-paper umbrella. The umbrella surface was not stained by mist and rain, but only loved the falling flowers.
The people on the street are still the same, but the old acquaintances are gone.