Prose Part 1
I have had many leaves in my book, all painstakingly climbed and plucked from the heights. It never occurred to me that, low down, the variegated beauty was spread out for you to pick.
My youngest daughter loves to go to the temple. The exquisite four-sided Guanyin statue in the main hall, the pigeons circling around the tower, the little turtle swimming in the release pool, the sparse blooming flowers and plants in front of the monk's house, make her very happy. We were often there, playing all day long.
During the Spring Festival, the weather warmed up, and I took her there again, pulling her cart. In the backpack were her favorite cookies and fruit.
"Nyonya, let the Bodhisattva have some of your cookies?"
The daughter shook her head, looking a little reluctant. She was, after all, still three years old.
"It's noon, the Bodhisattva is hungry!"
Upon hearing this, she cheerfully pulled out an unopened box of cookies, trudged into the main hall, and placed them on the Bodhisattva's offering table. Pulling out another banana, she said, "Dad, peel it for the bodhisattva, mom said that if you don't peel it and eat it, you'll get sick."
The teacher's wife who struck the chime on the side laughed, her wrinkled old face blossoming into a spring flower. "What a good boy, your cookies for the Bodhisattva grandma, what are you going to eat!" The teacher lady turned over the bag beside her and took out a white, shiny, sesame-stained candy from the withdrawn offerings, "You eat some sesame candy, it's from the Bodhisattva's grandma."
My daughter looked at me and caught it.
On the roof of the hall, under the eaves of the tower, lay a flock of pigeons. There are also a few foraging in the square where the clouds go and the wind comes
Food. My daughter eats sesame candies while feeding the pigeons. "It's time for the pigeons to eat their meals." She said. The tender child's voice is very nice.
The sugar was soon finished. She took out the cinnamon in her shirt pocket, held it up, and ran to me so that I could peel it for the pigeons. "Mom said, eat with the skin will get sick." My daughter is small and only remembers these grown-up words.
The pigeons cooed and tumbled to grab their food in a graceful manner. Waddling among the pigeons, my daughter was happy. The harmony of the scene suddenly touched me.
There are many people who come to the temple to make offerings, most of them chanting and kneeling there for wealth and peace. But who would have thought of stripping the offerings to the bodhisattva lest he get sick? I am afraid that even less people will think that the Bodhisattva will not be tired, right?
Many people compare their parents to the Bodhisattva. The first time I've seen this, I've seen it, and I've seen it, and I've seen it, and I've seen it, and I've seen it. But most of them go back to eat and drink, leaving a table of leftovers and leftovers, and then go. How many people have remembered to respectfully peel the fruit for their parents, when nothing, listen to these old bodhisattvas nagging to talk about the heart, peeling the loneliness of their parents' hearts?
In this society of old age, I am afraid that even fewer children think that their parents are also very tired.
Not to mention the treatment of people and animals whose "status" is not as good as their own.
There is nothing mysterious about bodhisattvas. I think, whether it is for the Bodhisattva or for the birds, peeling off the skin and supplying the fragrant flesh in general is the pure, equal and solemn Bodhisattva's mind.
The beauty of falling leaves
In the fall, the trees on both sides of the street spit out clusters of yellow leaves, such as full of gold, dotted with the surrounding very beautiful. On the way back from the kindergarten, my daughter opened her hand and asked for the leaves.
The tree is very high, I try to explore to pick, half a day's work, or nothing.
"Daddy, here!" Lowering her aching neck, my daughter was holding a fallen leaf for me, which was as spotted as an autumn mountain.
She squatted down her tiny body again, and continued to look for one piece in the pile of fallen leaves. I squatted down, accompanied by her together with meticulous selection of fallen leaves, surprised to find that the fallen leaves in fact also have a unique beauty: there are worms devouring such as a variety of animals, there are a few strands of gold in the crimson, there are frost color full of face, and there are rough such as oil paintings ......
The daughter happily held up a few leaves, while walking around singing the cartoon "Pleasantly and the Gray Wolf" episode. episode of the cartoon "Pleasant and Gray Wolf". Many lines were lost in her singing, after all, she is still small.
I also took a few fallen leaves and tried to clip them in a book.
I've had a lot of leaves wedged in my books, all painstakingly climbed and plucked from high up. It never occurred to me that when I lowered my head, the variegated beauty was spread out for you to pick from.
The clear wind prose article two: prose
Shallow summer like smoke, flowers bloom love thick, this season and then the thin cool people also warm and moist. According to the softness of a meter of sunlight, collect the fragrance of the flowers, to brew time, let the fresh and pleasant, to feed the soul.
--Title
It has always been believed that the good time is with the fragrance, in this light summer morning, smell the flowers, listen to the birds, low brow reading, so that the heart through the Tang Dynasty and Song Dynasty, the beauty and poetry will be in the heart of the drop into the line, the formation of landscape poetry.
Bubble a pot of tea, tea overflowing, the red dust in a tired heart, with the clarity of the sun carved into a light boat put back in the sea of the heart, the heart of the windless lake, calm and moist, in the refreshing serenity, will be condensed in the past in the frail petals, shallow depictions of Fannie, laughing at the ordinary years.
In the silhouette of time, always busy, and missed a lot of blossoming moments, but also because of the hustle and bustle, it will be yearning for a piece of clarity, longing for a piece of pure land, to put my poetry and soul. I would like to find a side of the garden, a wisp of freshness, in the green mountains, scooping up grass and trees condensation, smell the fragrance of flowers, so that the heart in the sky under the stretch, so that the natural seclusion in the heart surging with abundance.
Perhaps, it is the character of the reason, the summer favorite, not the beautiful purple and red flowers surge, but the corner of the 'that smear green, into the eyes, will feel the heart through, fresh and moist, it does not have any decorations, pure nature, in the wind and white clouds, any stretch, and the flowers set off, with the morning dew whispering.
The real beauty, never add any modification, such as in the best years, the first time I saw that clear water in general, only two clear heart, and the same love as the clear dew, such a beautiful, through the life, only one glance, the spring breeze of the ten miles, the years of blossoming.
I often think that the first rhyme of summer must be green, that green and transparent, in the light of the interlacing slowly spread, gently shallow, leading to the heart of the trail, the flower shadow at the light, is the wind planted a hedge of the wind and the moon, is away from the fickleness of the heart to generate a touch of green, is used to hold the good jiejie corner, regardless of the world of fireworks and smoke how to smoke and dye, that clarity and transparency in the light of day between the eyebrows, a shallow interpretation of a touch of tenderness, the wind is not a good thing, but it's a good idea. The wind is over, voluminous or scattered, as good as the first time you see.
Although the beauty of the flowers, will eventually charm the eyes, sometimes, lonely introspection, more able to keep into a window of wind and clouds.
I am in a cool eye, guarding the inner landscape, read shallow summer gentle poetry, this season gives me the feeling of gently, softly, purely, let me think of a young girl floating in the wind skirt, think of the gardenia blossom, but also think of love, love in the eyes of the people, the heart since the joy of the good feelings in the heart of the heavy atmosphere, fixed to look at the sky, the sky is blue; look at the flowers, the flowers with a smile; The water is crystal clear.
Perhaps each of our hearts have been pregnant with an expectation of love, have been loaded with a person, the years have been far, a lot of things have been fuzzy, only that unchanging feelings, has been properly attached to the heart, no matter when, think of it, it is like this light summer sunshine, through and through and beautiful.
Far away from the time, can let a person love to confluence, can also let a person have a heart of the waves, this is the gift of the years, let us pathway sadness and happiness, do not let the wind and dust written all over the brow of a heavy landscape, half of the wind, separated from the time of the wall, I'm still full of plum trees, the person who enjoys the flowers.
Like the word fragrance, it should be, from a wisp of wind in the shallow summer, through the soul, came quietly, with a thin sentiment, and leisurely quiet beauty, have not sniffed into the heart. It should have the light of wild chrysanthemums, the elegance of orchids, and the fragrance of roses everywhere in this season, in the shallow green, half-open heart, such as the morning petals stained with dew like crystal, dark fragrance sleeves.
Faint extreme began to know that the flowers are thick, a touch of incense, must be hidden in the heart of the daughter's family, that youthful ignorance and the first encounter with the joy, in the heart of the dance flutter, such as the shallow summer that tree blossoms, dyeing of the acacia, gentle time, decorated with the poetry of the season.
Things of the heart, by the May flowers colored with fragrance, some of the desire to arrive at the dream, ultimately could not resist the gentle breeze, in a green paper, decorated with light summer branches of the thousands of purple and red. Some deep thoughts, without words, low brow, is your smile, and your eyes in the green color, read up, such as dew kissing the flowers, watch, warm.
With the most simple state of mind, guarding the initial sprouting, for you to open the poetic, grow into a lush, heart suddenly have people to think about, but also a kind of happiness, just as your sentence, stranger flowers bloom, can be slow to return.
The years are deep, some love, have not had to say, I think, I came, is to meet with time, writing a deep meaning, with a dewy brush, stained with the coolness of the time, gently meet, sketching the life of those beautiful scrolls.
Walking on the street in a light manner, there is a breeze from the hair slipped through the song of the years, those or happy or sad past, has long slipped from the fingertips, between the gains and losses, perhaps not what I want forever, but the expectations of the good, but still has not increased or decreased.
Life, always in the experience of abundance, lightness, is a person's inner precipitation, it is the mood of the flowing water, the white cloud is free, but also walking in the world's most beautiful gesture,
Take a shallow, placed in the shallow summer of the eyebrow, but also close to the natural, simple fragrance, such as the fragrance of the flowers in June, such as the wind lingers. Shallow, how good! Love a person shallow is good, and then rely on each other to help each other, until old age, shallow life, there is no big ups and downs, there is not too much cumbersome, look at the mountain is the mountain, look at the water is the water, in the light years, warm and moist as in the beginning.
This life, do not seek unlimited scenery, I just want to simple, happy, in the end of the mountains and water planted a sunshine, in the winding paths to stay a piece of flowers, hold a hand, enjoy the ordinary life in the touched and happy, even if the years will be deserted by the wind and smoke, there you are, but also the most beautiful people.
Think of the snow Zen said, the so-called silver bowl of snow days, is the door in front of the planting of flowers, behind the house planting vegetables, pickles, with firewood, rice, oil, salt, poetry, wine and tea, with three or five confidants with candlelight night talk ...... such time, such as drinking tea, plain and poetic, is what I want to be quiet years.
Just like this early summer morning, always give a person a kind of ease, all the quiet, are given to the birds and butterflies dance, there is a breeze, through the courtyard under the rose, will bring a trace of wildflower fragrance, open arms, embrace the sunshine, the heart will be poetic reproduction, the simple life, and romantic forward, idle on a flower, quiet on a bend of the moon, are all happy, all the complexity, and will ultimately be ablated by the time, the most favorite is the Pure and uncontaminated heart, with three or two confidants, read a few books, see the years of the green vine climbing over the fence yard, shallow joy, deep love.
Prose Part III
The May of my hometown is warm, where not only the mountains are green, the fields are also filled with a rich harvest.
The May of my hometown is sweet, where not only the songs and laughter, the old house around the strong feelings of the countryside also wafted.
My return once again, is to receive a call from my sister, the elderly father is sick, anxious and worried, so that I could not appreciate the handsome hometown, I hurried home; to be honest, my father in my mind, has always been strong, magnificent, it seems that I am not ready to face the father's aging, when I hold my father's withered hands, to see his father walking trembling figure, I tearful eyes , heartbroken.
May without my mother, for the first time, let me feel a kind of trepidation and uneasiness, get the blessing of the children's mothers, everywhere blooming a happy smile, the fragrance of the carnations, but it seems to be reminding me of my mother has left me a hundred days, this Mother's Day left me just a kind of reminiscence, and this reminiscence of the wound, but still in the non-stop searing of my father's emaciated heart, sadness, loneliness. Pain ------
The father in the heart of each child is a mountain, whether he is handsome handsome middle-aged, or old and frail, wind and candles, the father is strong, the representative of the greatness of the father, when we exhaust all the pretense to feel that the sheer love of a mother, or a bunch of warm carnations, sent to the mother in front of the father has not given a word of comfort, as if a simple sentence of Blessings, are a bit wordy. So many years, I really did not scrutinize the elderly father, as if he will never age, until one year to take my father to take a bath, I realized that the 80-year-old father is really old, many years of the old slow support to walk a few steps on the gasping, without the accompaniment of family members, the bathhouse will refuse to such an old man bathing, to see my father as a child, such a dependence on his son, my heart is sour, my father is really old.
My father is a coal miner, when the mine that rumble of the guns under the father deafness, mine that flying coal dust so that my father's lungs got occupational disease, from home to my father to work on the road 50 kilometers, my father can only come back once a month, in my memory, my father always rode that flying pigeon bicycle, often in my sleep quietly come, and in my sleep, quietly go, and the Father at home these days, is my happiest time, my father not only brought a lot of small friends envy of the delicious, but also riding a bicycle with me, everywhere to go to relatives, around when today I drove through my father worked in the coal mine, I realized, that is how the cold and dark night, how my father a person rode 50 kilometers, frost, snow and rain, rain and shine, just for a conviction --- go home.
To be honest, I did not feel how much father's love, not because my father does not love me, brother and sister 6 people, I am a son, it should be the father's favorite pride, but the mother's discipline more, once let me ignore the existence of the father's love, and the male carelessness has made me feel ashamed of the old man, today, when I've been a father, for a man, in the face of the growth of stronger than I am still strong, but also the son of the high, I only then I realized that the father's love is how sincere, he is so deep and strong, and is so inseparable.