Snow Soul
Daylight is throwing bright rays of light to its heart's content, and in the snowy wilderness, it is reverberating with the unique serenity and tranquility of the plateau. The purity of the blue sky stretches out a mysterious smile and vastness. Without the ups and downs of the confrontation, the lack of life on the green stay. Guangyuan after the snow, is comfortably winding up the Yellow River thousands of miles of magnificent, majestic and moving melody.
Snow is nature's thousands of colors to enjoy the change after the return to a higher level of purity of the original appearance. The snow scene is always shown to us a blank and flawless look back. When the green wilderness presents endless competition, relieve all the restlessness and clamor of winter, will open up this infinite curtain in time, all of a sudden the return of nature will be in the gentle drift will rest in the lullaby chanting finished.
Want to think of the earth after the Tongyun densely covered by the boundless snow, thousands of life lost active, lost the self-expansion and arrogance. In raising the white melody of the universe, the world of snow and ice that reverberates between heaven and earth will show us her vastness to the fullest. People in this selfless and unhelpful emptiness of heaven and earth, only respectfully in the fluttering diffusion, to feel the God gave us the unique favor of mankind.
The vastness of heaven and earth in the endless, all the mountains disappeared in the snow mist. You can only hear the goose feather-like snowflakes in mutual collision, and crowded race to cover the earth's snow sound. Only the silence of too long after the wilderness, in the snow fall in the sky echoed the pale, vast sadness of the air. However, in the precipitation of the white endless western land, a silver, crystalline giant band winding, magnificent across the white earth. This western cold land, stretching up the vitality of the cold land. This is the mother river of our Chinese nation - the Yellow River.
Looking at the Yellow River in other seasons, just full of vicissitudes of the yellow land, there is the Yellow River's eternal unceasing footsteps in the heavy to the east. The big water over, the disappointment of the barren land before the infinite vitality and hope. Especially when you walk alone in the mangyuan where there is no one to look around, the ever-approaching sky is always telling you the sadness and sighs of history.
And now on the snowy vast land, the huge white in covering all the strife and confrontation, heaven and earth's great loneliness, a kind of bear the heavens after a stern warning of helplessness, fear of the mood, is slowly shrouded in the body. However, the Yellow River fearlessly draws beautiful and vivid curves on the clean earth. --The Yellow River in the snow is composing a generous rushing song for us.
If the snowy wilderness is without the flow of the Yellow River, loneliness will make us lack strong faith in the cold. Then the long winter will dry up the yellow land forever. If the land of falling snow is pale, the gaze of hope will have nowhere to stay lingering thoughts.
The snowy winter will accumulate too much flotsam left to the voice of the Yellow River, they are only silver, a waiting for the fruitfulness of tomorrow's light temperament.
The majesty of the Yellow River can only be seen in the winter in the west after her powerful thick, fearless vicissitudes of the original appearance. It is the Yellow River's shining and pioneering temperament, for the long winter roundabout another beautiful, open face.
The western snow in the harsh landing too much desolation, only the flow of the Yellow River, will be the disappointment of the indignation of the landscape to add the element of endless life, more than struggle. The Yellow River is the mother of the west, but in the snow-covered white, in the lonely and helpless struggle, the Yellow River and deservedly become the snow, the snowy real soul.
Without snow, we wrestle the Yellow River and feel the majesty of thousands of years of Chinese civilization. When there is snow, we write songs of praise for the Yellow River, the soul of snow and ice. When the white earth after snow presents too much solitude and loneliness, the Yellow River will stretch the main theme of life. Will be the history of the heavy western style, let the snow melt in the surging yellow water, after the eastward flow, into the historical impetus, injected into the blood of the Chinese children, for the Chinese nation tomorrow's re-emergence, glowing with infinite vitality
Snow of the reverie
Siberia's wind
Send the season of the blossoming of the rain
In the winter of the northern country
In the northern country
I am in the snow, I am in the snow. p>
I'm tramping solo on the snowy surface
Gray days
Skimming through the space of sadness
Again towards the season's
last turn
Today, the small town finally waits for another falling snow that has been long awaited by the prayers.
The butterfly-like snowflakes fluttered gently, bringing with them the unique scenery of this season. She came with a light dance step, she stepped on the soothing rhythm, she came with a plain veil. The winter spirit, to our world to dress up to come. Winter without snow can still be called winter?
Wherever her skirt goes, the snowy plains are as quiet as a child, the snowy peaks are cold and erect, the jade trees blossom, and the air is particularly gentle. In her gentle soothing, all the restlessness began to quiet down, the earth is quiet and peaceful, like a sleeping baby in the arms of his mother. In this silver world, this dazzling white so that the sky also eclipsed. In this quiet white, we can still have what fickle heart can not put it?
When our restless heart calms down, we can feel the falling snow is so colorful. What kind of flower in the world can be as atmospheric as a snowflake? And what kind of flower can be as dashing as a snowflake? "Suddenly like a spring breeze, thousands of trees and thousands of pear blossoms" - this is the splendor of the snow; "northern scenery, thousands of miles of ice, ten thousand miles of snow, look at the Great Wall inside and outside, but the rest of the Mangmang, the river up and down, suddenly lost the torrent! "- this is the spectacular snow;" window containing the West Ridge thousands of autumn snow, the door parked in the East Wu ten thousand miles ship "- this is the snow beautiful;" wind and rain to send the spring return, snow to welcome the spring to the cliffs of a hundred feet of ice, but still The flower branch is pretty" - this is the snow of romance; "thousands of birds fly away from the mountains, ten thousand paths of the people trail extinction" - this is the snow of solitude and seclusion. In fact, the most favorite, or "green ants, new spirits wine, red clay small stove; the evening sky want to snow, can drink a cup of no" such a mood. Two old friends, in the twilight, cloudy cottage, sitting around the red fireplace, so concerned about the whispering inquiry, how full of warmth ah. But in today's society, although there is a lot of wine, there are few small fireplaces, and it is even more difficult to find a soulmate, so it is very difficult to enjoy this kind of mood again.
Coming to the countryside alone, in the vast snowy plains, I reduced myself to a small black spot in the vastness of heaven and earth, and quietly stopped here. If you look at this snowy plain as a world, then we are the countless snowflakes scattered by God. We are sent to this world by the winds of fate like the falling snow, and when we look back on the way we came, there is no trace to patrol. We lie where we fell, waiting for the winds of fate to send us to another place, or waiting for another snowflake to come, and then quietly melt into nothing. Just as there are no two snowflakes that are exactly the same, there are no two people in the world that are exactly the same. So where is the other snowflake with whom we know and share our hearts?
Looking around blankly, what is colder than the early winter weather is loneliness, which forces its way from all around and chills me to the marrow of my heart. In this cold silence, a warm voice gradually rose from the bottom of my heart:
Is it snowing where you are
Are you afraid to face the cold
Can there be a fire to warm your hands
Can there be a smile to fill your home
Is it snowing where you are
Is it fearing to face the loneliness
Do you want to listen to me to say something
Do you want me to leave a snowflake for you
The search for plums in the snow
has become a fairy tale in my dreams
The petals of the flowers are flying
Spilling through my hair
Pick a flower and leave it with me forever
To accompany me to the ends of the earth on the coldest days
I think it's the best song in the world. Along with the song, there is a feeling of disappointment. In this life, can I find another snowflake? Can I still hold hands with each other and sing this song to her? And who will be able to accompany me to the end of the world on the coldest day?
Looking at the snowflakes fluttering like butterflies, I suddenly felt a sense of sadness in my heart. Just like a butterfly breaking cocoon, a drop of water has to go through how miserable pain to condense and crack into a beautiful snowflake? How many painful trials and tribulations does a person have to go through in order to become more skillful and brilliant?
Looking forward to a snow
I don't like winter because I hate the cold and the heaviness of winter;
I don't like winter because I hate the gray skies and the sleepy earth;
I don't like winter because I hate the tightly closed windows and doors and the heavy clothes;
But there's one thing I must admit. That is that I love snow.
Some people say that snow is the purest in the world because it is so white and flawless;
Some people say that snow is the dirtiest in the world because it is so full of impurities.
I don't want to analyze who is right and who is wrong, because I like snow, whether it is pure or dirty.
I often wonder what kind of Creator created such beautiful and lovely snowflakes.
I think he must be a naughty angel, or maybe she is a beautiful fairy.
I have often guessed that whenever someone makes a wish, God makes a snowflake.
When people's wishes come true, God releases these snowflakes.
That's why snowflakes fly all the time, from the sky to the ground.
It flies because it is the bearer of wishes;
It flies because it is the fulfillment of wishes.
Standing in front of the window, I make a wish.
Then, I will keep waiting quietly, expecting the snow that belongs to me.
Looking forward to a snow,
I think, soon, God will definitely make the biggest and most beautiful snow for me.
Expecting a snow,
I bless,
I wait.
Rain always falls in the rice-plantation green south, falls in Gusu Hanshan Temple, Huizhou Xidi Village, falls in the shadow of the Qinhuai River, the Fuchun River on the soft waves, wet bamboo leaves rice leaves lotus leaves willow leaves, fish scale tiles umbrellas bird's canopy boat green stone bridge, wet Hengshan Mount Lushan Mount Huangshan Mount Emei Emei Mount Yandang Mountain, Lake Taihu Hongze Lake Dongting Lake Poyang Lake, and the White Lady of the Broken Bridge, Li Yu carving railings, Tang Pak Fu peach blossoms, Wen Tingyun's Green Shirt. This is the rain when the plum is yellow． Cold rain even the river night into the Wu, Bashan night rain rises in the autumn pool - this is the rain of the south ah, in the apricot blossom village in March in Jiangnan, a straw raincoat strewn in the rain ...... that sweet and gentle Huangmei tune reminds people of the southern hometown of the smoke and pastoral songs and bamboo and horse and the clear sweet sweet Huangmei plum Huangmei rain Huangmei opera.
The Snow World
Li Hanrong
One night's snow re-created everything in heaven and earth. The world became a white palace. The crows were white, the dogs were white, and the black coal turned white. The graves also became white, the rumbling pile no longer makes people feel bleak, but looks beautiful and meaningful, the serene arc, the slightly upturned posture, let a person feel that the land has a kind of desire to stand up at any time, and constantly descending and thickening of the snow, so that it is far away from the appearance of like a coiled lying down like a bird, which is grooming and growing their white wings, it will fly in some mysterious direction at any time.
Snow falls on the ground, on rocks, on tree branches, on roofs, snow falls on everything that is expected. Snow was tending to the dry earth and our dry lives. Snow falls all over our vision. Finally, the snow falls on the snow, the snow is still falling, the snow is touched and intoxicated by its own whiteness, the snow falls in its own arms, the snow lies asleep in its own arms.
Walking in the snow, we no longer speak, the snow flurries the language of the sky, passing on the language of the distant past. The snow in the sky is also the snow on the ground, the sky and the ground have no boundaries, we are the people on the ground are also the gods in the sky. The snow of the Tang Dynasty has not melted so far and will never melt, the thickest snow is preserved in poetry. The snow that fell on my hand melted, which reminds me of the love that has passed through the generations. I really want to go to the clouds to see how this hexagonal flower is urged to bloom by the bitter cold. What was her demeanor at the moment of blooming? Was her fall vertical or inclined? Coming down from such a steep and high sky, was she dizzy, was she afraid? From water to mist, from mist to flower, this dying process, this touching miracle! Soft and great is the spirit that walks the long road of heaven, and comes again to the rolling earth. This one and the other and the many that fall on my eyelashes, were you my tears in your former lives? You found my eyes, you wanted to return to my eyes. You melted and became my tears, still my tears. Nothing ever dies but birth. The sea of Jingwei still brews salt for us, the cup is still Li Bai's wine Li Bai's moon. The river pushes the ancient stones as it always has, and on any of them one can find the same handprints as ours, and the same well that collected your figure last year or long ago, collects mine again. Lifting my head, every snow is airborne with your message to me, that nameless, faceless snowman you molded in the distant wilderness is the very same me in the afterlife ...... I don't dare to look at the snow anymore, all I look at is the pure souls of the homeless. I closed my eyes and sat on the snow, quietly listening to the snow , quietly listening to myself, the snow drifted down around me, the snow lifted me up, I became snow, there is nothing else but snow, the universe became a white snow ........
The only days when God is not needed are the days when it snows. Heaven and earth are a white church, white consecrates white, white salutes white. There can be no need for a savior; white liberates all sinking colors. Nor is there need of a revelator; white has revealed and answered everything, and the language of white recounts the most solemn touches of the heart. The highest mountain tops all hold bright candles, and I can faintly see that there are higher mountain tops in the distance from the tops, higher mountain tops that are still snowy, that are still great snowy peaks that we can't climb enough. I see more signs of God on days when there is no God. All the faraway places that the spiritual eye sees are the faraway places of divinity, which wait for us to arrive, and when we do, we truly discover ourselves, and so we set out once more.
The only day that doesn't need love is the day it snows. There are so many white sarongs drifting toward you, you don't know what to treasure about the blessing that comes through the air. So ethereal gestures, so soft words, so innocent promises. The love that flies in spite of the sky and the distance reminds me of those daughters made of water throughout the ages, all for the sake of love, coming from the underworld and returning to the underworld. They came and transformed the low cottage into a simple paradise, and the cold windy canyon was filled with tenderness and turned into a peaceful corridor. They are gone, they run on the sea, calling our names and the names of our villages in the waves, they roam in the clouds, watching over our lives from high in the sky, they are our atmosphere, rain and snow.
The only days when I don't need to write poetry are the days when it snows. All that floats in the air and spreads on the ground is pure poetry. The pen of the tree is held up in silence; it wants to write a poem, but is so moved by it that it doesn't know what a poem is. So quietly stood in the snow, stood in the poem, as if to say: the pen is redundant, in front of the universe of pure poetry, there is no poet, only the person who reads the poem; there is no person who reads the poem, only the poem; in fact, there is no poem, only the snow, only the infinite serenity, the infinite innocence ...........