When I woke up in the morning, the dormitory was not as bright as the previous days. As the calendar turned over page by page, the whole dormitory became darker and darker every time I woke up. I took my mobile phone, called out Xiao Na, asked about the weather, and found that it was winter.

Yesterday, the cold rain bursts, the cold wind rustles, yesterday, I watched my umbrella shiver in the rain.

Today, there was a drizzle in the morning. At noon, the rain stopped, the cold wind caressed the earth, walked along the corner, and the blown leaves fell round and round, splashed in the water, sparkling ripples, and infinite diffusion to the future.

Open the gallery, there are some photos taken in the warm sun a few days ago. At that time, it was cool in autumn, sunny and warm. Today, it has been several days since the beginning of winter, and it has already made people shiver with cold.

My pants can no longer withstand the cold. After all, the cold wind penetrates through every crack in my pants, reaching deep into the flesh and blood, and bursts out of endless power trembling back to the dormitory.

Everything is in a trance, just like yesterday, the golden autumn leaves are still hanging on the trees, but in some places the rain and snow have been on the ground; The withered and yellow weeds still retain the last sense of autumn, but do not notice that winter has already thrown a hug for it. This strong hug caught everything off guard. But what is there to be prepared for?

I lay on the bed in the dormitory and picked up the computer. In the dark night and in the spare afternoon, whether there is light or not, when I touch the keyboard, I know that I want to write something. After all, in a trance, it's already winter. I don't know if the warm sun blows the cold wind at this time, and if I can write some melody for myself in the next moment.

In my dormitory days, I intend to practice calligraphy. After all, as a future excellent teacher of the people, it would be unreasonable for me to have a bad word. What about me now? If I were a lecturer, I might have a sense of humor, but at the moment of writing, I am afraid that it is a fake product. At this time, I miss the head teacher in high school, who made us write two copybooks every holiday.

Unfortunately, I missed the afterglow of summer and shivered in winter.

Jiang Chen, written in Xinjiang on November 10, 2017.