Walking in the Aloe Valley, drunk in the late autumn. Look at the red leaves carefully, arranged in order, with traces of growth. At this time, the sky glowed softly, clarifying and embarrassing, making people want to hear the singing of a soaring skylark. Once in the Luhua Valley, there is autumn, and the autumn is slipping in a foggy dawn, and it will disappear after a hot afternoon. It lifted its toes across the top of the tree, dyed a few leaves, and then flew across the valley in a cluster. Sunlight shines through the foliage, and this moment only wants to lift the camera and leave a moment of drunkenness.