Appreciate the classic prose of women who love flowers

A woman who loves flowers, a world with flowers. When the flowers are gorgeous, brilliant and fragrant, she has such a pair of eyes, staying between the flowers, looking around, looking for and staring. These eyes reveal surprise and satisfaction from time to time, and also contain some sighs and regrets. A woman who loves flowers seems to be born with flowers and keeps them company. At four o'clock, she lingered among the flowers and was drunk in Hua Meng.

I know such a woman who loves flowers. Her name contains the word "English", which is related to flowers; However, when I approached her, she no longer enjoyed the flowery years, and God never gave her a flowery face. But she really has a soft spot for flowers, so that I gave her a nickname based on flowers, Flower Essence and Flower Fairy. For my teasing, she often giggles and her eyes are streaming: "You can laugh at me, but I can't live without flowers!" I feel that there is nothing artificial in her words, let alone affectation. She is listening to the sound of flowers, just like a frozen river listening to the news of spring. She imagined the expectation of flowers as a touch of dream, which set off in the desert of her emotions and lit up the island of her mind. Every moment, she is praying for a piece of color, no, even a flower shadow of one or two petals, to touch the oasis of her life and to reflect the pier of her years.

In spring, the peach blossom is not red, and Li Wei is white, but her figure appears in parks, rivers and mountains early-she is listening to the voice from Hua Xun. She is like a naughty little girl, in the grass, in the Woods, among the branches and leaves, she wipes her eyes bright, and she wants to seize the moment of flowering! After a sigh and frustration, she lost her mind and tried to wipe her tears with her small sandy hands. Then she was inexplicably depressed and depressed: this spring came a little late, so that the whole body was still soaked with the breath of winter. It was not until one morning that she accidentally caught a glimpse of a small bud hidden in the dancing bushes that she came to heaven, as if spring had finally arrived overnight. How beautiful! She stepped forward, cocked her toes, put her nose close to the bud and closed her eyes, as if kissing the person she loved most. Her eyes sparkled with joy. In those prosperous days, she wandered in the ocean of flowers, bathed in the luster of flowers and warmed in the arms of flowers. In the bright spring, the woman who loves flowers, her heart is also budding and jumping. It's like a long winter, and her heart is in full bloom with flowers at the moment. A brief glance at the flowers dispelled the gloom on her face and dispelled the gloom in her heart. Since then, spring tides have surged in her dusty world.

In summer, the flowers are full of leaves and the plants are in full bloom. A woman who loves flowers is intoxicated by charming flowers. She smiled shallowly, she cheered and ran, and the camera in her hand clicked, giving a panoramic view of the beautiful images with bright stars and colorful colors. The prosperity and excitement of a season are all packed into her heart. Then every night in the dream, yellow wild chrysanthemums, pink peony flowers, purple wild roses and red and white hibiscus flowers bloom on her pillow.

Women who love flowers are most afraid of the arrival of clear autumn. At that time, she looked around, the fields withered and the flowers withered. She accepted her own steps, preferring to shut herself in her room, recall the details related to flowers, read stories related to flowers, and then go to the balcony or windowsill and look at the flowers supported by bottles. Although the flowers are beautiful, they should bloom in her square inch. If there are no people in the world who love flowers and cherish them, it is doomed in the end. In order to appease her mood, I specially asked someone to bring her a residual lotus. If she gets a treasure, she carefully inserts it in a broken glass bottle, facing each other day and night, hoping that the life of this flower will last forever. Helpless, this residual lotus was acclimatized, and in a few days, it gradually withered in her field of vision.

Winter comes as scheduled, and women who love flowers hide their dreams of loving flowers. All day long, she faced the flowers and leaves that had lost water, and solemnly put them into her pages again and again, sealed in her memory. Counting the days in the cold wind and staring at the photos of life in the album, she realized: "A hundred flowers bloom, brewing a spring, and a hundred years will pay off!" I laughed at her again: "I'll give you the nickname' anthomaniac'."

A woman who loves flowers loves flowers and her life. In the end, she also became a flower, blooming warmly in the lover's dream.