One day a few weeks ago, the weather in the late summer and early autumn was blowing the cool breeze, and the yellow leaves of the sycamore drifted down with the wind, and they all rose. After the rain, the air smelled of moisture. I was in the garden, looking at the snails in the flower pots. In an instant, those elapsed times, all of a sudden, all came to me. On the afternoon of the year before, after the thunder and lightning, the downpour suddenly turned into drizzle. After the rain had cleared, the sun shook the clouds, and through the gaps of the leaves, it slanted on my face, but I felt a little chill. I was sitting by the mud wall of my alma mater, sagged my head, and looked at the rolls covered with "crooked red crosses", my mood was extremely low-the test smashed the crystal clear water beads rolling in my eyes, from time to time To fall, I lifted my head and tried not to let it fall, but it jumped out naughtily. I turned my body to a mud wall beside me, and buried my head in tears. "Tick" rain dew fell from the leaves, heavy Fell on my head. I looked up, because it was raining, the mud wall was full of snails, big and small, big and big. My eyes were attracted by these snails, so I watched them intently. They carried a heavy burden, their soft bodies clung tightly to the mud wall, and they climbed hard on the mud wall. Their movements were so slow that I could hardly see them crawling. In a blink of an eye, a big block fell. It was so hard that they climbed there
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