Walking in the snow Yesterday, Beijing made the first snow since the winter. Children make snowmen and snowball fights; young people bring scarves and gloves to drive to the suburbs to ski; middle-aged people finally enjoy the peace in this silver-clad city; the elderly come out for a walk and breathe fresh air. The snow flutters and sticks to my red hat and scarf. Although the temperature is only minus 1 degree Celsius, I feel warm in my heart, because I am not alone, there is a person to accompany me. The lake in the Summer Palace has already had thick ice, and the thick fog seems to be a white drapery hanging from the sky, blurring the Buddha's Pavilion and the 17-hole bridge in the distance. As the saying goes: 1929 does not shoot, 3,394, on ice. The day after tomorrow is twenty-nine, but someone has been bold enough to play on the ice. We both walked hand in hand along the lake, talking about the ground, and the foot on the snow made a "squeaky, squeaky" sound. Not a lover, not