raindropthe optimal solution
People with different industry backgrounds have different ideas about how to solve problems. However, the final optimal solution can not be obtained from a single perspective. Perhaps the optimal solution is a combination of offline handling and online crowdsourcing. For example, users ride vehicles scattered in remote areas to a series of parking spots that may not be where we want them to be, but are on the optimal path for moving vehicles offline. Moreover, the flexible setting of the rout...
raindropOne cold Sunday
One cold Sunday, Mark came home with a bag of small silver fish. This is Xiang Yu, or ice fish as the locals call it. He had bought it in a shop in the town to the south, opposite where a small village had sprung up on the ice of the lake, a collection of simple wooden houses with holes drilled around them. I've seen a snowmobile ride from the shore to a cabin with a six-pack of beer strapped to the back, like a half-dozen mini passengers. "Sit down and rest," Mark said. "I'll cook....
raindropsalesroom
The farm is a three-hour drive southwest. We set out before dawn, but the place had been covered by another winter snow for a week. The farm is on a windy plateau that is truly in the middle of nowhere. The plows had more pressing roads to shovel, and the last five miles were so deep that they were almost impassable. We skidded in circles all the way, with no traction compared to the man pulling the sledge in front of us, who was driving two steady Belgian mares. There was a box of brown chic...
Do it all with passion.
raindropthe optimal solution
People with different industry backgrounds have different ideas about how to solve problems. However, the final optimal solution can not be obtained from a single perspective. Perhaps the optimal solution is a combination of offline handling and online crowdsourcing. For example, users ride vehicles scattered in remote areas to a series of parking spots that may not be where we want them to be, but are on the optimal path for moving vehicles offline. Moreover, the flexible setting of the rout...
raindropOne cold Sunday
One cold Sunday, Mark came home with a bag of small silver fish. This is Xiang Yu, or ice fish as the locals call it. He had bought it in a shop in the town to the south, opposite where a small village had sprung up on the ice of the lake, a collection of simple wooden houses with holes drilled around them. I've seen a snowmobile ride from the shore to a cabin with a six-pack of beer strapped to the back, like a half-dozen mini passengers. "Sit down and rest," Mark said. "I'll cook....
raindropsalesroom
The farm is a three-hour drive southwest. We set out before dawn, but the place had been covered by another winter snow for a week. The farm is on a windy plateau that is truly in the middle of nowhere. The plows had more pressing roads to shovel, and the last five miles were so deep that they were almost impassable. We skidded in circles all the way, with no traction compared to the man pulling the sledge in front of us, who was driving two steady Belgian mares. There was a box of brown chic...
Do it all with passion.
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The hedges are sparse and sparse a path deep, and the flowers on the tree heads have not fallen into shade.
The child hurriedly ran after the yellow butterfly, and flew into the cauliflower with nowhere to be found.
——Yang Wanli, "Xugong Store in Suxin City"
On a fine spring day in the Southern Song Dynasty, the poet went to Xinshi to find wine. A person, a horse, walking in the countryside, with grass on the street, green shirts upright, all in a leisurely life. He has passed the age of no confusion, knows the destiny, and conforms to the age, with a good spring in his heart, flying verses, broken rivers and mountains... Those are his splendid beauty and his sadness.
When he arrived at Xihekou, the diligent shop assistant tied a horse for him and put him with aged wine. The splendid spring sun hit the wine glass, passing through several faint sounds of money tossing, and there was a taste of peace and prosperity in the trance.
He looked up and looked out the window, the hedge was sparse, the path was deep, the cauliflower in the distance was blooming gorgeously, and the breath of spring was surging in the fragrance of the flowers. By the fence, three or two little children were catching a yellow butterfly, chattering and ignoring the sorrows of the world. The butterfly was east, west, high, and low for a while, causing them to hold their breath for a while, hesitate for a while, run in a hurry, and feel at a loss for a while. It's about to be caught, a little closer, a little closer... Who would have thought that the butterfly turned over and flew into the cauliflower bushes, and they would never be able to find it again, ah, so sorry.
In the playful figures of the children, he seemed to see the shadow of his childhood, so he laughed softly with the help of wine and memories-how many years of old butterfly fluttering left behind in that piece of cauliflower yellow?
It was night, he drank heavily and stayed in Xugongdian. When I woke up the next day, with a third of my thoughts and a third of my afterlife, in the morning light of spring, I wrote this poem: "The fence is sparsely sparse and a path is deep, and the flowers on the top of the tree are not yet shaded. The children rush to chase the yellow. Butterfly, fly into the cauliflower and find nowhere."
Natural things always suit my taste. If it is contaminated with some rural atmosphere, it will be even more exciting. This kind of heartbeat is like butterfly wings. As soon as it is opened and closed, there will be a vigorous floral fragrance blowing on the face, with the interest of childhood.
When reading such a poem, one will think of Feng Zikai's paintings. There are not too many complicated lines and colors, and the emotion and picture quality are very natural. The children's cartoons written by him, like his writing style, are all graceful and quiet, innocent and self-satisfied.
In that "Children's Play", it was two children fluttering butterflies. The little boy used a palm fan to pat the low-flying yellow butterfly, bent his back, and pulled up his trousers. The little girl took a paper fan and stood with her hands behind her back. Her half-length shirt showed her arms and calves like lotus roots.
A few years ago, I watched the movie "Aromatic Journey", and I never forgot that piece of rapeseed. Hundreds of thousands of acres of cauliflower fields bloom as if to shred the entire season. Who overturned the spring? This is a feast of flowers.
A few days ago, I went to the riverside to see cauliflower. Although I came late, luckily I didn't miss it. Because of the construction of river embankments, the area of rapeseed on the banks has been reduced compared to before. Despite this, the tangy floral fragrance is still domineering, and anyone who can plunge into it will choke a happy somersault. The color is also very flamboyant, with large pieces of bright yellow, like a paint bucket spilled over, and the bedding is almost a waste.
A few old cows graze in the field, like a few boats moored in a sea of flowers. Shepherds without butterflies. The weeping willows are swaying, and it is the sound of cars in the distance and the fragrance of flowers in the vicinity, as well as the mood of a wanderer who has aged prematurely.
The hedges are sparse and sparse a path deep, and the flowers on the tree heads have not fallen into shade.
The child hurriedly ran after the yellow butterfly, and flew into the cauliflower with nowhere to be found.
——Yang Wanli, "Xugong Store in Suxin City"
On a fine spring day in the Southern Song Dynasty, the poet went to Xinshi to find wine. A person, a horse, walking in the countryside, with grass on the street, green shirts upright, all in a leisurely life. He has passed the age of no confusion, knows the destiny, and conforms to the age, with a good spring in his heart, flying verses, broken rivers and mountains... Those are his splendid beauty and his sadness.
When he arrived at Xihekou, the diligent shop assistant tied a horse for him and put him with aged wine. The splendid spring sun hit the wine glass, passing through several faint sounds of money tossing, and there was a taste of peace and prosperity in the trance.
He looked up and looked out the window, the hedge was sparse, the path was deep, the cauliflower in the distance was blooming gorgeously, and the breath of spring was surging in the fragrance of the flowers. By the fence, three or two little children were catching a yellow butterfly, chattering and ignoring the sorrows of the world. The butterfly was east, west, high, and low for a while, causing them to hold their breath for a while, hesitate for a while, run in a hurry, and feel at a loss for a while. It's about to be caught, a little closer, a little closer... Who would have thought that the butterfly turned over and flew into the cauliflower bushes, and they would never be able to find it again, ah, so sorry.
In the playful figures of the children, he seemed to see the shadow of his childhood, so he laughed softly with the help of wine and memories-how many years of old butterfly fluttering left behind in that piece of cauliflower yellow?
It was night, he drank heavily and stayed in Xugongdian. When I woke up the next day, with a third of my thoughts and a third of my afterlife, in the morning light of spring, I wrote this poem: "The fence is sparsely sparse and a path is deep, and the flowers on the top of the tree are not yet shaded. The children rush to chase the yellow. Butterfly, fly into the cauliflower and find nowhere."
Natural things always suit my taste. If it is contaminated with some rural atmosphere, it will be even more exciting. This kind of heartbeat is like butterfly wings. As soon as it is opened and closed, there will be a vigorous floral fragrance blowing on the face, with the interest of childhood.
When reading such a poem, one will think of Feng Zikai's paintings. There are not too many complicated lines and colors, and the emotion and picture quality are very natural. The children's cartoons written by him, like his writing style, are all graceful and quiet, innocent and self-satisfied.
In that "Children's Play", it was two children fluttering butterflies. The little boy used a palm fan to pat the low-flying yellow butterfly, bent his back, and pulled up his trousers. The little girl took a paper fan and stood with her hands behind her back. Her half-length shirt showed her arms and calves like lotus roots.
A few years ago, I watched the movie "Aromatic Journey", and I never forgot that piece of rapeseed. Hundreds of thousands of acres of cauliflower fields bloom as if to shred the entire season. Who overturned the spring? This is a feast of flowers.
A few days ago, I went to the riverside to see cauliflower. Although I came late, luckily I didn't miss it. Because of the construction of river embankments, the area of rapeseed on the banks has been reduced compared to before. Despite this, the tangy floral fragrance is still domineering, and anyone who can plunge into it will choke a happy somersault. The color is also very flamboyant, with large pieces of bright yellow, like a paint bucket spilled over, and the bedding is almost a waste.
A few old cows graze in the field, like a few boats moored in a sea of flowers. Shepherds without butterflies. The weeping willows are swaying, and it is the sound of cars in the distance and the fragrance of flowers in the vicinity, as well as the mood of a wanderer who has aged prematurely.
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