The diver takes a deep breath and challenges the space for him. Before leaving, he looked at the nothingness below. What posture should he use for a tight short distance? He passed the miracles of mechanics, aesthetics and flight accurately and smoothly in the process of descent. After three years of hard training, he has developed self-discipline into instinct, only to resist the powerful command of gravity. He stood on tiptoe at the edge of the land and raised his arms from toe to fingertip. Look at the perfect outline of his tendon, hanging upside down in the sky for a long time. It has been beaten by the wind in the chest and ground into a turbulent streamline, allowing the sun to bake his skin into a bronze color. He stretched to the limit, suddenly fell down, rolled into a series of inverted somersaults, and then suddenly straightened into an arrow before touching the water. In time, he knocked down the shiny glass door with the crisp sound of his hands crossing and disappeared into the door, leaving only a splash as his sign of crossing. A famous ice dancer, the Witt Empty Ice Palace in East Germany, wandered around like kicking snow, stepping on the wind and catching shadows, kicking the air to find a gap in her fantasy. She likes to explore one crisis after another, and then she can always turn her arms and waist randomly from desperation to the lines that surprise geometricians in prosperity. She just threw out another Leng Yan story in high spirits. Carmen spoke with fiery limbs and rhythm on the ice, but left no clues to confuse her eyes. Alas, she traced it in vain. There she is. The world is really wonderful and elegant. The windward world rotates with her, and the beautiful dizziness affects all eyes and necks to turn into the bright snow light in the North Pole. Suddenly, she jumps out of the transparent whirlpool and turns into a flying gyro phantom, rolling in the air. The world below is very tense. Applause is jaw-dropping. Such a thin ice skates cut our dreams in half briskly and skillfully. Carmen on the Ice-Carmen on the Ice by Katarina Witt, your transparent territory is cold and hard, and no one dares to compete with you to let you go against the wind. The oblique silhouette patrols the border in the blink of an eye. What power can overthrow you? What conspiracy will make you stumble? Carmen on the ice, the lonely daffodil keeps a balance between jumping and flying. The country you rule is desolate and treeless. To break through the long winter that has never been understood for thousands of years, you can only use a pair of ice plows to plow a splendid Dutch suspension bridge into the ruthless frozen soil-a loud suspension bridge connecting the two sides of a small canal with cables and rollers in the second century of Van Gogh Festival. Did you cross the river from here to a dim oil lamp and find the farmer eating potatoes around a small table? Do you really cross the bridge to the woman who can't love you, to the pit deeper than hell, to Shana's sigh, Gauguin's sneer, to the deep corridor of the madhouse, to another endless world with a bloody razor in your hand, to the sultry Lamartin Square, to the lonely open-air teahouse and lonely starlight, to the golden field when the moonlight falls in July, to the turbulent crows and to the turbulent wheat waves? Why are you holding a pistol instead of a brush? That voice didn't wake up the world. It took a hundred years for the echo to appear, so 5 million people crowded on the bridge, crowded with hotels, restaurants and art galleries. They went to the crawling team to probe and took a look at the sunflower, iris and starry night, except that your brother was with you. The whole dazzling new world, Ode to Saint Audrey, opened Audrey Hepburn's eyes wide. The delicate little girl curled up in the arms of the aristocratic mother and chewed lettuce, swallowed the long night of the Nazis, and stepped into the spotlight as soon as she came up from the dark basement. In the 1960s, the short hair in the spotlight fell obliquely on her forehead, and an Oscar was gently placed on her forehead, showing off Hui Jin's slender arms. Africa can't seem to bear the heavy burden, but it can't wait to hold cancer cells and thousands of childish mouths in its arms. Your choice is that those black children who don't have fairy tales comfort them. As your own children, from Ethiopia to Somalia, those who despise generals and politicians claim all of them, even sick flies-claiming those empty eyes, which are bigger and more absent than when you were a child. The thin tibia supports your head, smaller than your thin skull. You held them in the dry fields, deserts, civil wars and plagues. After a tug-of-war and a sumptuous dinner, Death left half a table of delicious food and dessert. The whole world is sitting in front of the TV, burping and picking your teeth, and you are a little surprised to see that you are seriously ill and dying. You, your Twilight Princess, are old, and you have no Saint Audrey. Let all the spotlights honor Madonna's milk, and Monroe's lips shine on your top.