Australia's winter time cold is superficial, loud, the wind is blowing all day long, but in fact it is all for show. Sometimes the car windows in the morning with a thin layer of ice, it seems to be freezing, in fact, wrapped in a windbreaker can go out.

Australia's winter, and very beautiful, many roadside plants are evergreen, so there is no sign of winter, but rather to give the illusion of late summer and early autumn.

Unfortunately, it doesn't snow in Melbourne. If you want to see snow, you can only go to the snowy mountains, but I still often fantasize about Melbourne's silvery appearance. The snow falling on the European-style buildings with red brick spires, against the mountains and water, is the most beautiful I can imagine.

Shanghai, however, is always sluggish. The cold wind comes in before the feet step out, and even the bones are cold. This cold runs in the blood, wearing more clothes can not resist the shrinkage in the bones. Walking on the road, pedestrians are always in a hurry, always as if they are rushing to do something urgent, less of a calm to enjoy life. Their faces are blurred, as if covered by the haze of Shanghai, giving a sense of chaos.

That day I walked on Huaihai Road, the roadside was lined with French sycamores that had lost all their leaves, stretching out their dry branches, like the trembling hands of beggars. I remembered that in the summer, that is, when the sycamores are in full bloom, Huaihai Road is always crowded with people, a thriving and prosperous scene. Today, Huaihai Road is still lively, but the bare branches of the paulownia can not hide the desolation of the meaning. Shanghai's development is changing day by day, but has been like an empty city.

Perhaps it is because Shanghai has changed so much, this time back home, no longer have the impression of a friendly feeling. Memory of Shanghai, like the bulldozers overturned by the construction in front of my house, leaving a wreckage of nowhere to put.

In a moment, a gong rested, I do not know where is home.

In fact, I am not qualified to make such a lament. Wherever I am, I follow my parents. The place where my parents are, is home.

I just feel sad.

When I went to visit my former junior high school teacher, she didn't recognize me at all until I gave my name, then she realized.

Can a person's appearance really change so much in just six or seven years? Everyone says I've changed, and I guess I have.

But I remember Shanghai. Shanghai is a place that I know very well. I was sitting in the car driving to the airport, and outside the window were tall buildings and towers flying backwards. The sun was a dusk sun, very soft, disappearing and reappearing behind the towering buildings. The horizon is out of sight, the horizon is never out of sight.

The whole Shanghai is yellow like old photos, like the color of memory.

Australia's winter time cold is superficial, loud, the wind is blowing all day long, but in fact it is all for show. Sometimes the car windows in the morning with a thin layer of ice, it seems to be freezing, in fact, wrapped in a windbreaker can go out.

Australia's winter, and very beautiful, many roadside plants are evergreen, so there is no sign of winter, but rather to give the illusion of late summer and early autumn.

Unfortunately, it doesn't snow in Melbourne. If you want to see snow, you can only go to the snowy mountains, but I still often fantasize about Melbourne's silvery appearance. The snow falling on the European-style buildings with red brick spires, against the mountains and water, is the most beautiful I can imagine.

Shanghai, however, is always sluggish. The cold wind comes in before the feet step out, and even the bones are cold. This cold runs in the blood, wearing more clothes can not resist the shrinkage in the bones. Walking on the road, pedestrians are always in a hurry, always as if they are rushing to do something urgent, less of a calm to enjoy life. Their faces are blurred, as if covered by the haze of Shanghai, giving a sense of chaos.

That day I walked on Huaihai Road, the roadside was lined with French sycamores that had lost all their leaves, stretching out their dry branches, like the trembling hands of beggars. I remembered that in the summer, that is, when the sycamores are in full bloom, Huaihai Road is always crowded with people, a thriving and prosperous scene. Today, Huaihai Road is still lively, but the bare branches of the paulownia can not hide the desolation of the meaning. Shanghai's development is changing day by day, but has been like an empty city.

Perhaps it is because Shanghai has changed so much, this time back home, no longer have the impression of a friendly feeling. Memory of Shanghai, like the bulldozers overturned by the construction in front of my house, leaving a wreckage of nowhere to put.

In a moment, a gong rested, I do not know where is home.

In fact, I am not qualified to make such a lament. Wherever I am, I follow my parents. The place where my parents are, is home.

I just feel sad.

When I went to visit my former junior high school teacher, she didn't recognize me at all until I gave my name, then she realized.

Can a person's appearance really change so much in just six or seven years? Everyone says I've changed, and I guess I have.

But I remember Shanghai. Shanghai is a place that I know very well. I was sitting in the car driving to the airport, and outside the window were tall buildings and towers flying backwards. The sun was a dusk sun, very soft, disappearing and reappearing behind the towering buildings. The horizon is out of sight, the horizon is never out of sight.

The whole Shanghai is yellow like old photos, like the color of memory.