Chongqing is not fierce winds

Fog these days, very strong, very strong... All around is hazy, all that is seen is not true. With the fog, chongqing winter quietly. Stove is turned into ice, frozen birds since morning.

Only the piercing raw. Here, the weather forecast, it seems, are still very mild, but why I feel colder than home? Hometown - pat westerly winds on the cheek, let< storage solutionsa person was painful; Snowflakes falling, nestled in shoulder; The silent watching, guarded the poplars. Here, seem to Neo skin lablack anything.
 
Chill in my clothes, my skin, the body, and mind, forced to shrink in the condom. Drink a bowl of soup, take the heat, lazily against the soft sofa cushion for leaning on, bask in the sun, I'm afraid it is too luxury. Here all have no, here only the thick fog.
 
Ginkgo tree, royal gardens of the aristocracy, have to bear the cold, have a lot of dead leaves. These nobles shivering, longing for the sun low reward. Golden halo is thin, and all the holy worthless. Think of hometown pine and poplar. My guess is that they are still with the cold wind, stick to in the lonely road. The bark of bumpy is simple farmers hand. Trees are similar and simple farmers, all suffer silently, quietly holding. One layer strewn at random in the mountains of barren yellow, brewing, Neo skin lab the erupting!
 
Went gradually falling, dreams and waking to see, the lights have been lonely. The misty lights reflected to my pupil, scattered into the candle. At that moment, I understand, the home is missing here...