I was looking at the Padma River 2 into the misty earth.
 
  The beaches on the shore of the Padma River are not expected, and they are poor and therefore fearless.
 
  On the other side, there are green bamboo forests, mango gardens, old eucalyptus trees, and thick durian trees, which are mixed in a discord. The pond is surrounded by yellow canola, and a bunch of thorns grow on the roadside. The house built by the Indigo Lord 150 years ago was ruined, and a broad-leaved tree in the courtyard screamed all day long.
 
  On the cracked land of the village of Raja caste, they licked their goats. There is a grain store not far from the market. The villages that fear the ruthless rivers always feel shuddering.
 
  The Padma River has a long-standing reputation in Indian mythology, and the Ganges of Heaven is flowing in her veins. Her temper is eccentric. She tolerates the towns and villages she bypassed, but she does not recognize it. Her pure, elegant rhythm is intertwined with the memories of the cold and snowy mountains and the call of the unaccompanied waves.
 
  One day, I was away from the city’s small boat and parked on her quiet sandbar pier. At night, I lay on the deck and received the caress of the eyes of the Great Bear Constellation. Xiaoling woke up and saw that Venus was still doing his duty. The indifferent rivers and nights flow on the side of my complicated thoughts, just as the travellers walked on the side of the bitterness of others and headed for distant places.
 
  Later, at the end of the sparsely populated plain, I reached the end of youth.
 
  From my apartment, you can clearly see the village of the Sautar people covered by greenery. Here, my neighbor is the Kupai River. She has no glory of ancient seed. Her non-Aryan name is closely related to the crisp laughter of the Shaotar girl who lived in the local generation.
 
  She embraced the cottage, and there was no contradiction between the river and the fields. This shore has a cordial conversation with the other side.
 
  In the farmland that is attached to her jade body, the flax blossoms, and the rice bran wakes up green.
 
  The dirt road was interrupted at the beach, and on the crystal-clear waters, she gave way to the pedestrians.
 
  On the riverside fields, palm trees stand tall, mango trees, black berry trees, and Omani Raj trees hand in hand, shoulders shoulders.
 
  The farm language used by the Kupai River must not be called the slang. Water and soil are willing to be bound by her rhythm, and the wave and the glory are not disgusting.
 
  She is slim, pats the palm of her hand and dances gracefully, stepping into the light and shadow.
 
  The rainy season gives her members a passion. She is like a drunken Shaotar girl, but she never destroys or drowns anything. She swayed the sway of the water vortex, swaying across the banks, running with a smile.
 
  Qiuqiu, her water flow is thin and transparent, and the pebbles at the bottom of the water are clearly visible. However, Feng Wei turned to be thin and pale, and did not make her ashamed. She is not proud of wealth, she is not lost because of poverty, both reflect her beauty, dance like a dancing girl, tired and rest, the eyes are tired, a smile is still in the corner.
 
  Nowadays, she regards the rhythm of her own poet, which has been dissolved in the soil and water that gave birth to her language. There are songs written in language and chores of language.
 
  With her changing rhythm, the Shaotar teenagers took a bow hunting; the cattle cart filled with bales of straw waded across the river; the potter picked the clay pots to the market, followed by a dog in the village.
 
  At the end, there is a book-teacher with a broken umbrella and a monthly salary of only three yuan.