The first catkin of 2025,
Arrived a bit later than usual.
The car parked at the elementary school,
Accompanied the last falling catkin.
The first catkin of 2025,
Is a lingering sentiment in Urumqi.
You flutter like a butterfly,
Swaying in the season of drifting catkins.
I can't forget the feeling of holding you close,
Warmer than the fiery passion hidden in my heart.
I forgot the intense south wind outside,
Once again overlapping tenderness and affection.
It is your red lips that cling to everything about me,
It is your thoughtfulness that ignites my passion once more.
Your myriad of tenderness transforms into the spring breeze.
This year’s catkin outbreak period,
When the two-wheeled vehicle reaches the area with many willows, I must squint.
Catkins float like snowflakes in the wind,
Falling to the ground without melting.
When the wind comes again, they dance once more.
The hotter the weather, the more catkins there are, fluffy and light,
Making me feel like they could be used to make a quilt.
There is a place where a large pile of catkins gathers,
Like little snowdrifts.
I recorded a video,
Posted it on Bilibili.
Catkins fluttering like snow_Bilibili_bilibili