Feidong 94831 Notes

As I turned around the mountain path, my eyes suddenly lit up, and I came face to face with the maple tree. It stands alone on the slope, like a handful of solidified flames, and like an old friend with his sleeves tucked back. The sun shines through the sparse clouds, coating each leaf with a halo of varying shades. What a thrilling color it is - the bottom layer is faded green, the middle is ripe persimmon yellow, but the edge is burning with the strongest ocher red. A leaf is a small autumn universe. When the wind comes, they are not in a hurry to say goodbye, they only tremble slightly and make a very light rustling sound, like a whisper or a sigh. Finally, one piece, spinning and spinning, fell off the branch. It fell so slowly, as if it was not falling, but a solemn flight, a long farewell to the sky. It fell on my open palm, with clear veins, like a letter full of stories. I suddenly understood that the splendor of this tree was not the blooming of life, but the quiet and beautiful farewell. It turns the sun, rain and dew accumulated over a lifetime into the last and strongest color, bidding the world its most affectionate farewell. It turns out that the most beautiful farewell is not to quietly fall into mud, but to burn into a glow with all your strength, leaving an eternal and warm shadow to the world.