encounter
On a long morning in May, my four-year-old daughter suddenly screamed.
"mom! Mom! Come on! "
I jumped out of bed and went straight to her bedroom. She sat up and looked at me without saying a word with a mysterious and strange smile on her face.
"What is it?"
She doesn't talk.
"What is it?"
She pointed out the window with a chubby little hand, holding a small meat den in her hand, but there was nothing outside the window except the gray wall of another apartment.
"What's the matter?"
She still secretly smiled, and then quietly revealed a sentence.
"Oh, my God!"
I looked down at her hand. I really saw the blue sky that was eternal and still young, the amazing spotless blue sky, the blue sky that a little girl knew in the new word book but still didn't feel startled at the moment. I was shocked for a moment.
So, I sat quietly beside her and they looked at the miraculous clear sky together. Usually, a noisy little girl was frightened that day and showed a pious silence.
Through surprise and almost unbelievable joy, she saw the sky.
Her eyes start from the small window, and the loud sky blue starts from that end. On that beautiful May morning, they met.
That moment was really sacred. I hold her little hand and feel that she no longer only knows "heaven" from the structure of strokes. She was surprised and amazed to realize that it was broad, open and deep-she faced the blue sky and she grew up.
It was a summer afternoon that couldn't be longer. At first, I sat by the lake in Indiana and read a book. Suddenly, I found some white fibers floating around the lake, like cotton, some floating on the grass and some floating in the lake. I still don't care too much, just because it is windy occasionally.
Gradually, however, I found the situation simply shocking. A few hours later, the trees are still sending out those small clouds unconsciously, as if they were an infinite cloud bank.
The whole afternoon, the whole night, the sky was full of that kind of thing, and the next day it was exactly the same. I was surprised and shocked.
In fact, when I was in primary school, I knew that there was a kind of seed planted by wind and optical fiber, but I only knew the answer to a test question.
I really saw it that year, and my heart was full of admiration, an unspeakable awe. It was almost the first time I saw life-even though it was a plant.
I feel that the seeds like clouds collide strongly with something in my heart, and I can't help but be moved by the luxury, luxury and cost-free investment of life.
Perhaps only one seed, after wandering day and night, is enough to make a tree, but the creator is willing to do such a thrilling feat.
When I meditate, I still often think of that lovely lake. I don't know which of the seeds by the lake has become a small tree. At least I know a seed has grown up. That seed once met a piece of land, and it became a shade in a valley in the hearts of passers-by, teaching her how to fear life.
Nostalgia in spring
Spring must be like this: from the green hills, a handful of snow can no longer be caught. With a splash, the cold face turned into a painted face, and a song sang from the clouds to the foothills, from the foothills to the low and deserted villages, to the hedgerows, to the yellow webbed ducklings, and to the soft and soluble spring mud.
So charming, so sensitive, but so chaotic.
A thunder can make clouds cry all over the sky for no reason, and a cuckoo cry can make a city full of azaleas. When a gust of wind rises, every willow tree will sing a white, empty, inexplicable and inaudible fly. Every fly is a semicolon of a willow.
Anyway, spring is so unreasonable and illogical, but it can still be good and calm.
Spring is destined to be like this: an old root clings to the dead stem of a pool full of dark leaves and flowers, and the roof beams of thousands of families in the north gently hold up a small empty bird's nest after being disturbed by snow and wind.
Then, suddenly, one day, peach blossoms captured the water profiles of all the mountain villages.
Willow trees control the royal ditch and the folk river head-the spring water is like Julian Waghann with a clear-cut flag, which is beautiful because of long-term pious prayer.
As for the name of spring, there must have been such a story: before the Book of Songs, before the Historical Records and before the characterization of Cang Xie, a lamb suddenly felt juicy when eating grass, a child suddenly felt soaring when flying a kite, a pair of legs suffering from wind pain suddenly felt comfortable, and Qian Qian suddenly felt the blood of water when washing yarn by the river.
Birds can start measuring the sky again.
Some are responsible for measuring the blue of the sky, some are responsible for measuring the transparency of the sky, and some are responsible for measuring the height and depth of the sky with those wings.
Not all birds are excellent mathematicians. They chattered and counted, looked around, and finally dared not publish statistics.
As for all the flowers, they have been given to the butterfly to count.
Give all the pistils to the bees for cataloging.
All the trees were ruined by the wind.
Leave the wind to the old wind chimes in front of the eaves to remember and inquire one by one.
Spring must be like this, or, somewhere, is it still like this? Through the black forest of chimneys, I want to visit the spring wandering in the distant years.
Excerpts from books
It suddenly cleared up after a heavy rain.
Psychologically, I feel as if I have found a group of lost treasures. Sapphire in the sky and emerald in the mountain reappeared in the morning window overnight.
Sunlight poured into the valley like a thin glass of grape juice.
I got up and walked down the steps, smiling and happy alone.
There's no one around, and I feel like I'm gone.
There is only joy, gentleness and vitality between heaven and earth. When I walked into the field, I thought I was a natural cauliflower. When I hold my arms against the wind, I feel like a gentle airflow; I looked up at the sky, but I mistakenly thought I was the sunshine of Ming Can.
My heart has never been so broad. In a trance, I remembered a poem: "God told the sun to shine on both good people and bad people." For the first time, I felt the deep heart of creation like that.
I suddenly fell in love with all living and inanimate things.
I am so eager to say good morning to everyone.
Somehow, I suddenly remembered Chen, who lives in the suburbs, and felt it necessary to see her. People really shouldn't make any arrangements and plans on such a day.
If you are not a little drunk in this sunshine and everything goes with the flow, it will be too disharmonious.
After several shuttle buses, I came to a winding yellow mud road.
The weather is clear, the road surface is just dry, and the temperature is soft, which makes people feel the pulse of the earth.
Along the way, I didn't realize that I was standing in front of the bamboo fence, and there wasn't even a puppy barking at the door.
There was a small bell hanging obliquely on the door. I shook it for a long time, guessing that there was probably no one.
I looked down and found a small copper lock-she also went out.
I stood for a long time, not knowing where I should go.
I want to leave a note, but I can't tell you the purpose of my visit.
Actually, I'm not that eager to see her.
I just want to spend an excellent sunny day. I just want to go to the countryside to see how the grain and livestock appreciate this day.
Looking up, the grain field in the distance is very wide, and there are several piles of straw scattered on the ground, which is quite antique.
I walked slowly and found myself walking towards a square.
Irregular yellow and green grass stretches under my feet, and grotesque stones are scattered in the grass.
I chose a relatively smooth piece to sit on my back, and I felt that the mat under me and the cover on my body were scorching sunshine.
I was intoxicated for a long time and looked around, only to find that the scenery was incredibly simple-a meadow and a few rocks.
Only the grass in the distance sticks together, and only the good wind nearby is like water.
There are no famous flowers and grass, and there are no celebrities gathered.
But why am I sitting so stupid? What attracted me?
I looked at the sky leisurely, and my heart suddenly returned to ancient times. At that time, it must have been a sunny day after a heavy rain. A village man went to the threshing floor to bask in the sun after farm work.
His little dog rolled around him, covered with grass.
He lay awake and smirked, feeling that no one had ever experienced such happiness.
So he got excited and stood at the door of the royal family panting to announce the secret.
He never thought that everyone he heard would snicker, so he took him as an allusion to a joke.
What happened to him? Because the truth he found was too simple? But after so many centuries, the happiness he smells is still incomprehensible to people sitting by the heater.
How wonderful it would be if we were willing to leave seclusion in the dark and return to the hot and bright light as soon as possible!
There is an unknown tree overhead, with few leaves, but all green, and the image of the sun is screened out from the cracks in the leaves.
Warm winds are everywhere, and round shadows are dancing happily.
Alas, how many times can such gentle sunshine meet a mediocre person in his life?
Sitting under such a tree.
This reminds me of my usual observation of character.
I often feel that my impetuousness and shallowness are like "summer", which often makes people hate and avoid.
So deep down, I can't help secretly longing for a realm-"winter".
It is bright, but not dazzling; It was warm, but it didn't burn.
When can I be so meaningful, so gentle and so deep? "If you want me to be a light, please call me such a light.
"I can't help but pray with all my heart" is not a step away, causing arrogance and light, but through the dark and cold sky, warm all the people sitting in the damp with enthusiasm. "
As the afternoon approached, the light became clearer and clearer, and the colors of all the scenery began to become thick.
I remember reading Duan's works, and I like one of them very much: "Sit opposite the window and watch it move on three sides." .
"I can't believe that I am also destined to appreciate this quiet taste.
In fact, what I appreciate has been appreciated by my predecessors.
What I feel, my predecessors have already felt.
But why are these experiences so profound and fresh?