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A hundred years of physical life, a thousand years of reflection. Faced with those ancient and famous trees, how far can human thoughts go back? Returning from Deng Lin, this issue has been haunting. They have been standing lonely behind the front house of Denglin Village, beside the mountain field or ditch, for hundreds of years. In this long and arduous process, human beings are in addition to awe. In the face of their dragon bell and vicissitudes of the torso, I felt that they were also looking at me. Suddenly Marlboro Red, my tired soul got a call of lightness or erratic-they are ancient trees, but not ancient trees. They are survivors who fight against natural disasters, including man-made logging. They are also a reference body of spirit and meaning, respectable and dear. Most of those ancient trees grow scattered, but they also wait for each other, echoing each other, like outlines, but also support or call. They are old-fashioned, still unwilling to be defeated by the years, still tragically interpreting the strength and beauty of life, showing the harmony between people and trees, and showing some kind of philosophy that is difficult to locate with words. In the surroundings, the newly built dwelling houses of the peasant households are completely integrated with the ancient trees. This kind of quiet harmony, which narrates the evolution of the years, constitutes a unique historical picture. Slowly walked towards an old tree, and as soon as I saw it, I was stunned by the dryness of its half body and the new stem from a person's height. Withered, the bark had already fallen off, and the naked torso was drenched in the sun and rain, eroded into a dark gray, and covered with cracks, like marks carved by the blade of time. Close to it, we can feel its sadness and joyous songs. On the withered tree, there is an inconspicuous tree hole, staring at me like a sleepy nightmare. Is it reading people and seeing the world? No one of us can tell whether a village grew up with some ancient trees or some ancient trees grew up with a village. Many evenings, when I stood silently looking at the house in a tube house in the city, I faintly saw the old red maple tree in my hometown. An elderly old man stretched his right hand The same look of branches. Some people liken their homeland to a towering ancient tree, and their folks from generation to generation, just like a bird. This is so apt Carton Of Cigarettes, how warm, and poetic. I firmly believe that the ancient trees of the Conch Mountain gave Deng Lin people the rustic and strong rural poetry, and also gave the young people who went out with strong nostalgia and nostalgia. It is like a warm big hand, holding those kites flying out of the village tightly, and like a vicissitudes of time bird nest, singing a desolate call forever in the depths of their souls. Baiyun Canggu, the ancient tree is like a familiar and increasingly blurred figure of my mother Online Cigarettes, and will lead me home in the direction of dreams. I ca n��t find the thousand years of physical innocence. The dense, simple, and glorious tree and the shade of the canopy are the portrayal of the evergreen tree of spirits.

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