The whispers of March followed, turning the soft willow tip, the swallow's whisper, bright spring.
A meal a sparse, a song leisurely, fragrance half, quietly enjoy the time......
March rain, patter down, with a bit cool, fluttering, moisturizing the earth, that silk thread, but also like the spinning thread of Weaver, woven clouds dotted the sky.
Grass, willow do not inadvertently spit out green buds, fluttering willow branches in a string of weaving miss......
Walking on the country path, smelling the fresh soil, stepping on the breath of early spring, facing the breeze, holding the end of March, let the fingertips fly on the black keyboard, playing a song "March of Spring ".