Painting Clear (Zhang Xiaofeng)
After a long period of rain, the sky suddenly cleared. Mentally, I felt as if I had recovered a batch of lost treasures, the sapphire of the sky and the green emerald of the mountains had reappeared in the morning window overnight. The sunlight poured into the valley like a thin cup of grape juice.
I rose and walked down the steps, smiling and rejoicing alone. There was no one else around, and I felt like myself. There was only joy, gentleness, and vitality in heaven and earth, and as I walked toward the field, I thought I was a peaceful cauliflower. When I raised my arms to meet the wind, I thought I was a wispy stream of air, and when I looked up at the sky, I mistook myself for the bright sunlight. My heart had never been so wide, and in a trance I remembered a verse of scripture: "God made the sun to shine on the good and the bad." For the first time I realized so y the deep heart of creation, and I suddenly loved all things animate and inanimate. I wanted so desperately to say good morning to everyone.
Somehow, I suddenly remembered Chen, who lives in the countryside, and felt compelled to visit her, and I really shouldn't have made any arrangements or plans on a day like this. In this kind of sunshine if not with a little bit of drunkenness, everything goes with the flow, it seems too irreconcilable.
After a few buses, I came to a winding road of yellow mud. The sky is clear, the road has just dried up, warm and soft, let a person feel the pulse of the earth. Along the way, do not feel arrived, I stood in front of the bamboo hedge, even barking at the door of the small dog did not have one. A small bell hung diagonally on the door, I shook half a day alone, guessing that probably no one. It was only when I looked down closely that I found a very small brass lock - she had gone out too.
I stood for a long time again, unsure of where I should go. I wanted to leave a note, but I couldn't say so the purpose of my visit. I wasn't really that eager to see her. I just wanted to kill an excellent sunny day, just to get out into the countryside and see how the grains and animals appreciated the day.
Looking up, the far side of the field was very empty, with a few stacks of straw scattered sparsely. It's a bit of an antique production. I walked with faith and found myself walking towards a square. Unevenly yellow and green grass stretched out under my feet, and strange boulders were scattered among the grass. I chose one of the smoother ones to sit against, and felt the burning sun beneath me, and over me. I was mesmerized for a long time, and when I looked around, I realized that the view was unbelievably simple-a field of grass and a few rocks. The only thing in the distance is the sky grass sticking together, near only good wind like water. There are no famous flowers or exotic plants, and there are no ladies gathering. But why am I sitting there like this? What am I attracted to?
I looked at the sky leisurely, and my mind drifted back to the ancient times, when it must have been a sunny day after a long rain, and a man of the village, after plowing, went to the threshing floor to bask in the sun. His little dog rolled around him and got covered with grass. He lay soundly, giggling, thinking that no one had ever experienced such happiness. Then he got excited and gasped and went to knock on the door of the throne room to make this secret known. He never expected that all who heard it would cover their sleeves and snicker, and from then on he was made an allusion to him.
What was his fault? Because the truth he discovered was too simple? But after such many centuries, the happiness he savored is still beyond the knowledge of those who sit at the radiator. How beautiful it would be if we would leave our deep, dark padded dwellings early and return to the hot, bright light!
Overhead there was an unknown tree with few leaves, but they were all very green, and the image of the sun sifted through the slight gaps in the leaves. Warm wind past a place full of round sun shadow are happy to dance. The first thing I'd like to say is that I'm not sure how much I'm going to be able to get away with this, but I'm sure I'm going to be able to get away with it.
Sitting under such a tree, it reminds me of my own observation of human character. I often feel that my own impatience and shallowness is like the "summer sun", often make people disgusted, avoid. So in my deep heart, I always secretly yearn for a realm - the "winter sun". It is bright, but not blinding. It is warm, but not burning. When will I be able to be that contained, that gentle and generous and yet that deep? "If you want me to be light, please call me to be that light."
I couldn't help but pray with all my heart, "Not to walk alone in the middle of the sky, causing flames and light. Rather, through the gray and cold heart, with a passion to warm all who sit stiffly in the gloom."
As noon approached, the light became brighter, and the hues of all the scenery began to intensify. I remember reading Duan Chengshi's works, and I love one of his lines: "Sitting against the wood of the window, I can see that it is shady on three sides." I can not imagine that I also have the opportunity to appreciate the quiet interest of autumn, in fact, what I appreciate, the predecessor has already appreciated. What I feel, the previous generation has also felt. But why do these experiences remain so deep and fresh?
There is a bag of snacks beside me that I bought in passing, intending to give to Chen. Instead, it was now my lunch. Alone, in the sprawling meadow, munching on simple dried food, it was quite interesting. In this kind of scenery, one doesn't feel hungry, yet one doesn't feel full either. Eating was just a pleasure, an art.
I originally brought a collection of words, but has not been opened, I always feel that direct viewing of the scene, than indirect viewing is much more profound. After dinner, I was a little tired, so I turned it over a few pages. I don't think I'm going to be able to get through this, but I'm going to be able to get through it," he said.
When I woke up, I found a few black, thin embryonic sheep, slowly meshing with the grass, far away from a child lying on stilts, leisurely chewing a long green grass. I threw up my book and strolled back and forth across the meadow. It was one of those rare quiet afternoons when the sound of my footsteps and that of the sheep munching on the grass were clearly audible. Back to look at the arm for the pillow of the child, do not feel a little envious of his kind of "wealth and riches in my like floating clouds" style. A few sheep are still choosing the grass with their heads, which makes me feel that they are not only chewing grass, but also half of the winter green, and the endless sunshine on the pasture.
The sun is slanting slightly in the west, but the light is still there, and I tend to favor this moment in the day. I know that some people sing the praises of the morning clouds, some people love the evening sun, as for the dazzling sunrise and the darkness of the night are accustomed to people's favorite. Only this ordinary afternoon, without any color or light, is often forgotten. But I couldn't help but love and admire the serenity, the calmness and the collectedness. I went back to my place and sat down, the vast grassland, just for me and the child watching the sheep? How can we enjoy it all? Occasionally look up, only to see the clouds sweeping the sky, oblique rows, like a short poem, like a section of irregular small order. When I look at it, I can't help but think a lot of strange thoughts. I remembered that there is a passage in the Yuan dynasty song that describes the reason why a person can't write a letter: "It's not that I have no love for you, but I have crossed the green river and can't buy the sky-like paper." Now, the blue paper of the sky has been laid flat on my head, but I suffer from the lack of cloud-like pen. In fact, even if there is a pen like clouds, but also with the writing with the wipe, how to do their duty to depict the wonders of creation. As for the wind and grass, probably also wanted to whisper a few lines of cloud works. It is just that clouds always love to change over and over again, making it impossible for the wind to spread its voice. If someone learns the shorthand of the clouds, and passes on a few of the heavenly writings to the earth, how good it would be.
While I was thinking about it, I noticed that not only the shape of the clouds was changing, but also their color was changing strangely. The color of the clouds is also changing strangely. The half-day sunshine is as bright as fire, reflecting the grass with a reddish tint. If you don't distinguish carefully, it looks like a wildfire is burning at the end of the plain. The shepherd's children do not know when has gathered his sheep, the village smoke rises, he is also hidden to a twilight.
I stood up and touched the stone to feel its warmth, but the air was a little cooler. There was a group of children walking by, each carrying a bundle of dead branches and dried grass. Suddenly they saw me and stopped, whispering to each other.
"She's a bit strange, isn't she?"
"We never have people come hiking around here."
"I know," said one of the older children, "Some of them like to come here to draw pictures."
"But I don't see her paper or her watercolors!"
"She must have painted and hidden it."
After coming to a satisfactory conclusion, they made another line to return. In the distance, there are sparse and dense bamboo forests, reflecting a corner of the red wall, I looked at them to go to their respective homes, the heart can not help but be disappointed. Think of the city streets, think of the two sides of the wall of buildings, people walking in the middle of it, look up and see only a line of sky, it really seems to be in the valley of the shade of death. And here, in this unknown wilderness, but all over the sunshine. I'm not sure how far I can get away from that!
I turned away, and the setting sun drew a reddish circle behind me. And the dim light in the distance also lit up in front of me at the same time. That magnificence and shabbiness became an extremely strong contrast.
Distantly saw Chen's home, also has been lighted, think she must be tired of traveling back, I hesitated for a moment, did not walk over to ring the bell, I have already paid a visit to the suburb of clear, do not have to see her again.
Walking to the station, I felt that there was something more in my hand than when I came, and when I looked down, it was still the same old book. This makes me suddenly confused, do I really carry a picture? Like the kid said, "Draw it and hide it!"
On the way home, as I walked alone in the dark twilight, I came across the painting. It was a picture of a clear suburb colored with light ink, drawn on a flat mind-veiled proclamation, and shown to me in every cloudy, dark place.