Spring of Lightning

The rain in spring hesitated in the air, leaving the distant sky covered with layers of thick clouds. I went back and forth along that monotonous route: from summer to winter and then to spring, the same leaves hung on the trees on both sides of the road or in the distant mountains; Let alone those broken mountains carrying trees. In such a season, I cherish distant villages: I cherish willows and drizzle for a long time; I cherish the eaves falling into the water and ripples; I cherish the clear sky and white clouds floating after the rain. Only until today can I experience such a scene; Only then can I know that seeing the fine buds penetrating the yellow branches curiously at that time actually moved me today; I didn’t know that seeing the gradually dispersed ripples inexplicably at that time actually brought today’s melancholy; I didn’t know that seeing the sunshine on the road excitedly at that time actually brought today’s expectation. Many years later, I no longer belong to the place I am familiar. Searching or pursuing makes me choose to leave, and then put me in a distant place to recall my country life. No matter the gray scale in the north or the strong intensity in the South, they can’t avoid the monotony of color. In the city lights, I can’t even distinguish the morning or evening. I can only recite the poem of pass again and again: the stream flows quietly,/move forward, retreat, turn,/but always arrive at last. Then, I describe the rural scene in the imaginary space: the sunset glow in midsummer gradually faded its bright red color in the sky. The villagers who returned from the green and yellow rice fields asked each other loudly. The dim light gradually lit up at the door soon, followed by the black smoke from the kitchen, the horizon has also become dark blue although I know that many memories are more like ignorant escapes, I don’t know whether villages or cities can carry more dreams. More often, I just silently recall those tough names in the dark. The suggestions or opinions I heard were still those suggestions or opinions, even though I had gone through many detours. I think the things in front of me are either covered with the color of the past, or with the tone of what will happen, but the reality is blurred in the aftertaste of the past and the expectation of the future. I looked at the walls around the house, which were so white that it was boring. Looking back a little, I found that the Sunshine went through the window and fell quietly on the concrete floor. I looked along the direction of sunlight, and what I saw was the quiet Wall with sharp edges and corners. I realized what moved me. When my heart calmed down, I found that those leaves had become vivid, especially after a late rain, as if the drizzle faded the accumulated pigment, let the green of leaves become transparent and bright; And when I look carefully, not only those leaves, but also the sections of those broken mountains become vivid, layers of mottled imprints are also coherent after the rain, just like surging waves blowing; And there seems to be no need for those grass or stones scattered around to imagine those gorgeous colors too much, too much flowery is another kind of monotony; But there are many flowery in simple monotony. I think of the life in the dim light written by pass: in the dark night of the forest, the flying birds are lightning; In the dark night of the sea, the shuttling fish are lightning; in the dark night of human body, the white bones are lightning; In the world, you are in darkness, while life itself is lightning. Maybe life is so monotonous, and you are lightning. Like (prose editor: prose online) change the way to continue to stay with this city I went out at 6 o’clock in the morning and came back at almost 8 o’clock in the evening. From beginning to end, I only welcomed myself with silence; Since I went to college, on weekends… [Original essay] string words Since winter, the sky is dry and the snow is misty. The whole earth is desolate and empty. Whether your mood is like a year, or… Forever military dream Forever military Dream (Ma Xiaochun, Kangle county, Gansu province) memories are like meteors, passing through the unmarked and blurred eyes, and the outline gradually… Spring rain I like spring rain like everything on the Earth. Just after the new year, the sky began to rain. I really like the spring in Jiangnan… Plucked the snowflakes of Dreams (modified) Near the new year, the first snow fell. I was surprised to read a long scroll in the morning, the white one is snow, and the gray one is tree… Self The fashion is transient, and the style is permanent. Things that can shine on others may not be put here. In…