When I saw the flowers in the morning and the evening, I just walked into the yard and picked up something on the ground.
A bird's nest.
The first reaction was to see if there were any birds or eggs inside, but unfortunately there were none.
Looking at it again, I don¡¯t feel dumbfounded, hiss This little thing that builds a nest, isn¡¯t it an artist?
It is not much bigger than my palm, and it is woven with various branches and grass stems that cannot be named. The branches and grass stems are not a single kind, they are thick and thin, with different textures, and some are decorated with withered fine flower buds.
There are dead leaves of different sizes and shapes mixed in the middle. If you look closely, they are fixed with cotton thread and fluffy flocs. Cotton and wadding, in addition to white, there are lavender purple, madder red and bright yellow
Those few bright yellow cotton threads look a little familiar, and the more you look at them, the more familiar they look.
Looking up at the few strands of yellow thread that had been torn apart and hanging there on the awning at the door, he finally thought about it.
A while ago, two pulsatillas were tossing and turning on the awning every day, pulling out several threads sewn inside.
At that time, I felt that it was probably skin, or else it was a way to talk about feelings.
did not expect. . .
All right, as long as you are happy. (Remember the site URL: www.hlnovel.com