Tell me about the orange blossom.

The afterglow of the sunset is scattered in the grass and sprinkled on us. The evening breeze gently wrinkled a pool of spring water. The wind smells like newly turned earth, and there is a faint fragrance that sneaks into my breath with the wind. Thousands of red flowers in Qian Qian withered, and thousands of trees in Qian Qian revived. What flower is still charming and fragrant at sunset and dusk?

I followed the scent, pursued it all the way, and sucked it all the way, only to find it in the garden where I passed by every day. The oranges on one tree have blossomed, with pure white eyes and dotted branches. Flowers come one after another, either in bud or in full bloom. There are no butterflies flying around, no colors, only the pure white of this tree.

My memory is so rich. There is a citrus tree, which grows on the grass of my childhood and in the small yard of my hometown. They germinate in grandma's story, turn green, produce pure white flowers and bear green fruits.

The late spring cold in March has not subsided, and the north wind has been blowing all night. Yesterday, the branches were full of flowers. Suddenly, the dazzling white petals of the tree disappeared, and the ground seemed to be covered with a layer of goose feather and snow, crystal clear and fragrant. Looking at those petals scattered on the ground, I have no time to appreciate its beauty and collect its fragrance. It is silent, falling with the wind and dissipating in the lush new trees. Secretly shed tears Grandma stroked my sparse hair, wiped the tears from my cheeks with calloused hands, and said with a smile, "Silly child, the flowers are falling, and they are about to blossom and bear fruit." Come, let's pick up these petals and make a wreath. " So I smiled through tears, carefully picked up the petals on the ground, put them in my palm, and put them under my nose to suck the residual fragrance greedily.