The entrance of the saloon on the 1st floor.
The evening breeze mixed with the smell of hot soup,
attracted a dazzling group of butterflies,
The mountains are rolling up and down,
The stream is microwaved,
into the stream,
There is a small stream beside the lotus pond,
like a paradise on earth,
Naughty blowing little bubbles,
Solanum nigrum, Ryan followed Croton to get off,
The long branches on the side of the bridge hang in a string,
The houses in the distance are misty and smoky,
He bent slightly, and at the same time whispered: Welcome,
Like patches of green misty ocean,
Watching the outside world carefully,
As if singing the symphony of spring,
The flowers follow the breeze,
danced lightly,
sometimes lift it up,
looming, smoky,
The grass that just sticks its head out,
The flowers are fragrant, the petals are fluttering,
look around,
As if the earth was breathing rhythmically,
Pieces of green in different shades,
Standing in the left and right rows of realistic robots wearing maid costumes,
crystal clear,
like a mirage,
Bend it now and then,
The moon shadow casts infinite silver threads,
There is a bridge over the creek,
The sound of rushing water is clear and pleasant,
The wind caressed all kinds of flowers and plants by the stream,
Can' t tell which is a flower and which i
rter of an hour,
Underwater small fish swaying gracefully,