After days of cold rain, it suddenly cleared up and I felt that the warm winter sun was really a treasure given to mankind by God. Every household is busy drying clothes and quilts, and everyone's balcony is full of flowers, and freshly poured bacon and sausages are also taken the opportunity to dry out, showing the abundance of life. Neighbors coming and going greeted each other warmly, with sunny faces on their faces. The weather is nice and people's mood is much brighter.

Not only humans like it? The birds are also happy, and they keep chirping and singing, one string after another. I don’t know whether it comes from other people’s birdcages or from the bamboo forest opposite. Looking around, the bamboo forest reflects the winter sunshine and seems to add a touch of bright color, which is so green that it is eye-catching.

I was on the balcony, with a book in my hand, my back to the sun, and my head buried in reading. The warm radiance bathed me, and strands penetrated through the cotton clothes and penetrated into the skin, especially my back. It was comfortable and warm, making people feel the warmth and joy of spring in my heart. Is this what the ancients called the joy of negative communication? If you close your eyes and are really about to doze off, why not throw away the book, put your hands in your sleeves, yawn twice, sit happily in the sunshine, and take a nap, which is also a winter pleasure.

At this time, in the corner downstairs, a few old people were sunbathing and chatting casually. Seeing the smiles and contentment on their faces, it was really a relaxing enjoyment from the bottom of the heart. The sunlight reflected on their eyebrows and their gray hair, making their faces suddenly more vivid.

If you look up and look far away, you can see a few trees. Most of the ginkgo leaves have fallen, but the remaining ones are still dazzlingly yellow. Under the blue sky, the row of rows of cypress trees, all with rust-red branches and roots gathered upward, looks like a hollow pyramid. It is quiet and elegant, completely different from the summer and autumn seasons. It is really graceful. There is a bird's nest on the nearest metasequoia. If it is at dusk and the rose-purple sunset paints a silhouette under the sky, it would be a beautiful scenery in winter.

In fact, there is not much scenery to see in this season, and the flowers are also rare. My favorite is wintersweet, but I happened to see two of them in a town a few days ago, and they were my favorite wintersweet. The bright yellow flowers on the tree are double-petaled and fragrant. You can smell them from any distance. It's really amazing. happy. I remember that when I was in the army, there was a Suxinmei tree in the yard. It was left by a veteran for many years. On Sunday, we washed the quilts, dried them in the sun, and then quilted the quilts in our class. The white quilt, the ocean blue quilt surface, and the fluffy cotton batting were all filled with warm sunlight. We leaned forward and gently One sniff, it's all the fragrance of the sun. Open the window, and the fragrance of wintersweet seeps in. On a day like that, when the setting sun slants into the window, a few comrades help me and I help you, laughing and joking while doing needlework. It feels interesting to think about it.

Maybe the warm sunshine is just right for needlework? Mothers in the countryside would also sit in the yard and mend clothes while basking in the sun. The winter sun moved over little by little, falling on my mother's navy blue scarf, then on the hen at her feet, and on the copper thimble on my mother's middle finger. My mother sewed carefully stitch by stitch, and finally tied a knot. Lower your head and bite the thread.

By the time the mother quietly mended her clothes, the sunset had almost lost its light. Dusk was coming up, smoke was rising from every house, the sound of cattle and sheep returning to their stables could be heard on the village road, and a child in the distance was calling her mother... Dusk In the middle, a touch of melancholy came over my heart.

How many years have it passed, on such a sunny winter day after a cold rain, I was upstairs, watching the golden sunshine fade away little by little, but what arose in my heart was still the same sense of loss as before. Just because the sunset dyes the sky red, it is the last attachment, like the brilliance of mother's love, which will eventually leave. As the song goes, only "the hands in the dream / caressing my head, just like when I was a child..." "