The Autumn Twilight

　In the afternoon, into the autumn dusk in the sunny paradise, see a day to the evening blue sky, watch the flowing clouds with the wind drifting away, distant mountains in the golden sunset stretched undulating, sparse wind swept through the dark green wilderness, feel the coolness lightly brush the hot and humid face. With the cool breeze and fallen leaves, quietly enjoy this painting of nature, dusk grassland and is a gorgeous painting, is a wonderful poem, is a cheerful song.

　　Dusk is like a golden carpet spread across the miles of mountains and rivers, the golden lines refracting the colorful. It sits in the wilderness, on top of people's buildings, on the wings of birds, on people's shoulders, on trees, flowers, grass until the night comes knocking. The dusk was peaceful and plentiful, and four members of the relatives' family came and went on the fence path with the sunset, talking and laughing. A few of the winding paths that lead to the mountains are lined with visitors. Some of them were singing, some were laughing and proud of the mountains, all of them refreshed and rosy-cheeked. Some people also brought water, food, poker, chess ...... looking at everything from afar, the heart ripples, a familiar taste of the homeland again.

　　I like the twilight of the countryside, not only because it has an enchanting style, but also because it is full of rich flavor of life. The water next to the old house is always flowing, the little sheep on the edge of the stream are sticking their mouths into the water from time to time, the donkeys are jumping around, the water is clear and almost transparent, the shadows of several small farmhouses by the stream are reflected in it, and children are happily dripping and catching fish with their bare feet. My mother, carrying a basket of beans, shouted, "Come home for dinner. Soon, the sound of children's laughter came out of the farmhouse, and the smoke of the cooking pots was particularly attractive in the sunset.

　　The wind of those years, blowing through the years, passing through the memory of home, and the sunset illusion into each dusk, so that my heart vaguely ache. The autumn twilight always gives people an inexplicable sluggish mood, whenever this time, I like to enjoy the melancholy rhythm of twilight alone in the stubble field, listening to the plow tractor's mellow and long sound, which seems to resound from the distant past to the present. These acres of land were once the entire world of my parents. They poured their heart and soul into their world, but they didn't bother to eat or wear it themselves. As far as the eye can see, it is all barren and desolate. Even the chirping of the birds is so sad. At some point, there was a chattering sound overhead, and when I looked up, flocks of birds were flying and hovering overhead. In the yellowish afterglow, the leaves on the trees fell with the autumn wind, like a butterfly fluttering in the air, very beautiful. The autumn dusk, along with the breeze, along with the falling leaves, along with the noise of the childhood home. It makes the afterglow of this sunset extra vivid.

　　The old cows returning at dusk walk slowly along the river bank. Clad in the shadow of dusk. The man leading the cattle is still the same as before, simple and unpretentious with his mouth humming "yodeling" and "yodeling". From time to time, he used the hyacinth grass on the cows to drive away mosquitoes and flies. The cows lowered their heads, I do not know whether they are listening, or in meditation. The birds were chirping over the pavilion, dense and thick, saying good night to each other before returning to their nests. Villages are at the end of the fields, in rows, gilded by the dusk with a brilliant orange, like a brocade. The smoke from each family rose, your family's and his family's, embracing each other warmly in the air and lingering for a long time.

　　Relatives and tourists opened their cell phones and kept photographing the cow as the laughter faded away. The dusk, with its light and quick steps, quietly, from the side of the mountain, from the end of the sky to come. A touch of sadness, a few sorrow, sunset dusk dawn. I'm trying to hurry back home before the street lights come on. Warm a pot of tea, in the autumn dusk, the heart into the yaoqin, singing and playing a song gradually dusk, a thousand strands, a little drop of desolation.