Time runs like water. Who stole it? Standing on tiptoe at the intersection of flower season, looking into the dusty future as if there were a sea of flowers; Looking back suddenly, I was awakened from my dream by hot tears, and the years gone forever were treasured with an upward attitude.

The torrent of growth washed my mature face, but it didn't dilute my initial attachment to the past. Occasionally go hiking in the suburbs and pass by a field full of rape flowers. The flower sea is long and bright. I watched intently through a few millimeters thick window glass, and then the golden color in front of me turned into endless thoughts, which blurred my vision.

I seem to see a little girl running happily in the field with pigtails, wrapped in cloth and rolled up her trouser legs. She galloped along the winding building, her little head looming in the rape blossoms all over the sky. Cross the sea of flowers, look for the fragrance of flowers, and dance like a flower elf. At that time, all she saw was the sky blue like the upside-down sea, and all she heard was the sweet laughter like a silver bell. Her heart, like a field in late spring, is full of flowers and fragrance.

This girl is never lonely. On the ridge of the field is an old grandmother who never leaves her body. Tired of running, the cat ran to grandma's arms, skidded on the mud and squinted happily. Patched cloth is always so naughty, covered with rich and fragrant soil; The little shoes on my feet kicked around, stumbling, and I was so happy that I broke the hole; My hair is a little messy, and the spring breeze touches it, and the petals are dew. I am proud of my hair. How happy she is! Without bondage and fetters, life is never redundant. Joy seems to fill the whole running route, endless.

Cold tears across the cheeks, slipped to the warm heart, long-lost dew moistened the sleeping heart. The picture of the black-and-white silent film is fixed before our eyes and grows into a flowering tree in our hearts. I am silent and miss the old shade. Once upon a time, through the mottled light and shadow of leaves, I heard my firm and step-by-step voice, such as bamboo dew dripping, crossing the aisle of years. Suddenly I felt relieved.

Growth comes at a price. That's a layer of armor on my body, and my heart is dark. I used to feel tired and hard to grow up. However, at this moment, I seem to see the trees in my heart fluttering in the wind; I seem to hear the deep call of the sea of flowers, grow up! I seem to climb a branch and smile brightly in the glory of youth. ...

Time passed by from the deep roots of the flowering tree in my heart, and I struggled to grow into a towering figure in a bright spring.