I do not know when I fell in love with the rain, love the beauty of it; love its purity; love it selfless.
Ah! I do not know when the rain again quietly went to earth. I am out of the house. Look, then, like strands of rain drift as ox hair light, like a needle-thin, thick interwoven to the earth to shed.
I got pot in the yard, the fish landed on the flowers, colorful petals have been washed clean, and comfortable flowers smiled, and opened a more showy. Yula on grass, the grass has become more green, and they are side by side, so that a long upward vigor.
Rain is still under the roof is wrapped in a layer of books Smoke books. I seem to see the rain looking at the fields of wheat seedling under-yun sorption spring dew. The moisture in the spring, the wheat seedling grow even more green. Farmers uncle were all happy grin. Ah! This year certainly is a harvest.
Rain gradually stopped. I took the road from a burst of fresh air aroma. Then, a green world of printing into my eyes, emerald green of the wet. Spit the bud branches, breeze, they Huanxiao Zhao. After cleansing spring rain, everything seemed extraordinarily beautiful, especially the spirit.
Ah! I love you something of spring rain.
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