The autumn in my heart can be described in one or two sentences, more than four, more than two.

Autumn is the falling of yellow maple leaves and the desolation of the earth; Autumn is the dignity of the cold current blowing the shore and rolling the waves; Autumn is the tranquility of the breeze blowing over the side face.

Autumn is crisp and the grassland is singing; The farmers were beaming with joy at the bumper harvest.

Autumn is a rippling lake, and the slight chill between fingers is warm; Autumn is old stationery with yellow pages, and the letters from home are bitter and sweet.