Speaking of the cradle, everyone will think of the baby in its infancy, and listen to the mother singing a soft lullaby to sleep. This is the original cradle.

People will compare schools to cradles. Teachers feed their students with the milk of knowledge. Students have dreams in their hearts, absorbing the moisture of knowledge, and knowledge is like a lullaby, which makes students wake up their dreams in the cradle of ideals.

Entering the door of life, that is, society, how many people have lost their wings and forgotten their dreams in the complexity of life.

Time passes in the four seasons, and life turns the four seasons into annual rings. How many people sit in semi-warm water, fantasizing about the distance, and how many people walk on ordinary roads and always meet mediocre themselves.

When I counted the threads of time, packed up my boredom, bound my lazy spirit and had nowhere to put it, a beam of light shone in my eyes. ...

That day, I came to read the short books, because I heard from my friends that there were many good articles to read and I could write them myself. Come to think of it, I haven't written anything for years. Once, I loved words so much. I clearly remember that I wrote short stories when I was a sophomore. At that time, I was so confident that I felt the wings of my dreams were growing.

I don't know. One day, my dream fell asleep. Later, after I entered the society, my dream remained awake for a long time. In the daily life of work and life, I am too busy to find the north and can't remember my original appearance.

With the passage of time, I became a spiritual walking corpse, wearing a thick mask of life. The wind can't blow in and the rain can't penetrate, but in the dead of night, the mask occasionally hurts.

Until one afternoon, like an ignorant child, I shyly came to the simple book and saw many excellent articles, so I envied their writing. In an instant, I woke up from my deep sleep.

Standing on the vast seaside of Jane, I carefully explored the water depth and slowly learned to swim in the water. I wrote the first article and the second article. My words grew out of my heart one by one, just like before, and the wings of that dream grew out bit by bit, and I was very happy.

When I write, I never think about who I want to be, because I am an ordinary passer-by, with no profound cultural background, no huge brain hole, no super logical thinking, no eyes to foresee the future, and no big pattern in people's mouths.

In writing day after day, I feel like I'm going upstairs. Looking up, there are many people in the high building. Looking down, there are still many people behind. We are all climbing, and we all want to climb the spiritual heights.

Today, a Jane friend sent me a private letter saying that my sister had not come to see me for a long time. I quickly apologized and said that my sister was busy these days and ignored you. I'm sorry. I looked at her name carefully I don't know, so I asked her if she changed her name. She said that she changed her name, and she reported her previous name. I remember. We talked about it a month ago, and she opened a new topic, children's literature.

I didn't know she was a sixth-grade student until I read her article today. Oh, my God! She's amazing. Her writing style is so sophisticated that she writes novels. She said that they all grew up in simple books. When I came, I thought of myself, just like a blank sheet of paper. When I grew up day by day, I carefully drew a blank. I saw the shadow of my wings, saw my dream laughing, heard my own spirit running, and smelled the flowers between the lines.

Jane's letter is really like a cradle. They shake the sleeping dreams and take you soaring. Although you are still dreaming, your spirit is flying. Where is the distance? I want to say that it is between my lines.