Say it, I am waiting for you in the autumn, until the maple leaves in the old ditch are like red, around the moon, those who have been brewing for a season, in the strong autumn colors, the light and the autumn, the shore The shadows of the trees and the reflections in the lake reflect each other as a freehand autumn figure. The wind whispers the worms of the insects, tender and untouchable, and with the cold wind, faintly scattered.