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September: A mature slow tempo

The paulownia leaves stretch their palm lines in the morning light

Every vein is soaked in a honey-colored hue

The rice ears droop like humble commas

Continue to write long sentences about the harvest on the draft paper in the fields

The orchard is like a spilled palette

The apples spread the rosy glow into the sunset

The milky white color of the pear is like a cling film wrapped in morning dew

Pomegranates are practicing the rhetoric of bursting on the branches

The wind begins to carry a frosted texture

It leaves a fine sandy itch when it passes over the skin

The fragrance of osmanthus is an intangible gold foil

The hand of dusk pressed against the glass of the window lattice

Someone is drying an old cotton quilt

The scent of sunlight seeped into the gaps of the cotton fluff

The peppers in the bamboo tray are strung together to form red coral

Hang all the passion of the entire autumn under the eaves

Happy birthday to you!

Happy birthday to you! May you be happy every day

October: A passionate allegro

The red of the Five-starred Red Flag and the gold of the ginkgo trees have reached a reconciliation

The fireworks of the National Day have frozen into amber in my memory

Exchange each other's light in the wind

Maple leaves are rehearsing a burning dance on the branches

Each one was holding a small torch

The morning frost is about to draw ice cracks on the car's glass

When the sun comes out, it turns into transparent tears

The formation of migratory birds is a moving ellipsis

Carry the unfinished story southward

I found it in the folds of the calendar

The full stop of September is growing into a comma of October

All the plump grains remained silent in the earthenware jars

Brewing allusions about spring

When the last ginkgo leaf kisses the earth

We have finally understood the secret code of the seasons

Those drooping, burning, migrating

All are sonnets written by time to the world

And we stand at the junction of September and October

It is both a ripe fruit

It is also a seed about to sprout

The morning light of October has gilded your new journey with a layer of frost. The road ahead is long. May you:

There is fertile soil beneath your feet and a gentle breeze between your eyebrows. All that you till will yield a harvest, and all that you wait for will be stored in the granary.