It is said that I am on duty. In fact, I have nothing to do when students are conscious. So I'm still used to holding the edge of the corridor with my hands and raising my chin to look east.
On the east side, the south view of the park separated by a wall is picturesque and comes into view through the wide gap of trees.
It's past seven o'clock, as if the wind hasn't woken up yet, but the park is very lively. People who do morning exercises around the lake are rushing forward with their arms waving, like three clusters and two rows of competitions. The Populus davidiana, who walks around the lake, is like a stalwart man, standing at the midpoint of the south side, stretching out his arms and holding the water and light of a lake in his arms.
The wind is light and the clouds are light. At this time, the sleepy sun was also shaken and pulled up. It leaned out its tipsy little face and dyed the lake red at a glance.
The clear lake is sparkling, swaying with the wind, and its posture is ups and downs, like thousands of red fish swimming. I looked blankly. Suddenly, the middle of the triumphant lake seems to have a spiral ripple. While I was wondering, I saw a black head like a ball shaking water drops and drilling out of the water. Seeing this, I can't help shaking my head and laughing.
Just as I was swinging from side to side, several feather swallows flying south fluttered happily into the air. The melody of moral integrity, soaring posture and unstoppable momentum is so beautiful and handsome in the sky like a lake and among the white clouds stretched by cotton wool.
Just then, Ding's preparation bell rang, and the crisp bell sounded like a wind chime in the clouds. With a happy mood, I slowly turned around and looked up, just hitting the text wall in the gallery culture.
Prose in Deep Scenery 2 The back garden of Beijing is surrounded by mountains and rivers, and it is lush. The morning kissed the feelings of the tree, and the morning glow dyed the smiling face of the wild cherry red. Sunlight covers apricot and rose faces, warblers sing in flowing scenery, green grass is covered with crystal dew, full of freshness, and purple swallows fly in the space between Shan Lan and the blue sky. It is the Baili Landscape Gallery, the most attractive leisure and health paradise endowed by nature in Beijing, and the main venue of the 20xx Beijing Winter Olympic Games.
Fresh air, intoxicating floral fragrance, winding roads, clear streams, crystal-clear Yaochi, crystal-clear hot springs, blue Longyangxia water, ancient dwellings and living fossils of paleontology are countless. The condensed water waves in the canyon are flowing, and that is the waterfall singing leisurely. In the ravine, there are colorful orchards inlaid with fragrance all year round, with five fruits full of joy of harvest. Red apples are like colorful girls in the sky, sending you peace! Purple grapes are crystal clear and dignified, full of particles, skillfully scraped with magnetic hands, giving me a round and full! Fresh strawberries, three-dimensional heart-shaped as if painted with crimson rouge, lively and lovely. Sunny ravines, peach trees, bent branches and mottled old poles will dedicate your sweet taste, pink skin and fairy-like face in the full fruit period. I know it will bring sweetness to people's lives! Inadvertently, the endless apricot garden is covered with branches, and clusters of snowflake-like flowers are covered with branches. In the mountains of the north, it is like spring, like poetry, like dance. Do you know the taste of apricots? They are slightly sweet and sour, full of joy and absolutely beautiful. Her benevolence soothes the nerves and nourishes the brain, which is the favorite of middle-aged and elderly people. It gives you beauty, gives me luck to eat and gives people a longer life than Nanshan.
Pearls and green flowers all over the mountains, cheerful good mood, accompanied by the joy of picking, make people feel relaxed and happy, lingering. When the birds brought the most dazzling beauty of the sunset, the nightingale hurried into the deep mountains, and the footsteps of dusk came to me. At that moment, I suddenly imagined that the earth wheel should rotate with the sun across the ocean, watching the amber morning light, watching the exquisite sunrise and watching the red sun. The roots of the mountain seem to be slowly shaking with the rustling sound of sleeping. Tell her to get up quickly and continue to write the song of the 20xx Beijing Winter Olympics, and try to sing it for the nightingale. Ask her to gather a hundred birds to form a flock of birds choir, and then show her voice to welcome guests from all corners of the country. Welcome to Beijing! Welcome to the charming mountain! As always, the spring eye at the mountain stream spews clear spring water, which is a gratitude to the mountain god, reflecting the fragrant sun, moon and stars, watering Shan Ye, nourishing the grass, nourishing the orchard, gathering the beauty of waterfalls, accompanied by the gurgling of streams, the mountain god is quietly brewing; Inter-city railways are flying between mountains, high-speed trains are shuttling between mountains, and Yin Yan is flying with skiers.
Looking at the lush towering trees, the breeze suddenly explained; Rows of Yang Shulin dancing in the depths of the mountains, that kind of joy and expression seems to make criss-crossing leaves weave into the shade of the summer capital, and the green barrier rubs together with the sky and clouds, which is the charming scenery of hundreds of miles of landscape galleries. Look at the tamarisk tree, more like handfuls of green umbrellas, sheltering people from the wind and rain. Not far away, there are waves of fragrant gardenias. Along the flowers, I look around Shan Ye and overlook the depths of the mountain. A breath of fragrance is refreshing. In a flash, the light of the morning, the color of the evening, the scenery of memory and the song of my heart are all in my feeling. I recorded the splendid calligraphy and painting in my life with words, extracted the essence with charming painting style, embraced the scenery of life today and tomorrow with a good attitude, and photographed the valley with green mountains and green waters.
Prose in the depths of the scenery has been quietly transferred for three years, and the complex flowing scenery slides like running water, day and night, no matter whether people are tired of its dullness or not, they only change and flow those yellow-green, mountains and rivers.
If you can notice a ray of light, it must contain morning dew, rise from the grass, and then graze on the peak of the western mountain, so that the twilight can dissipate its residual red. If you can pay attention to a phoenix tree, it must be that it turns into a green sea in a blink of an eye after being thin and lonely, and covers your window when you wake up on a summer night. If you often pass by an alley, the hair you meet from time to time is scattered in the morning breeze, and you buy a little girl who goes home early. One day, she may pass by you gracefully with long flowing hair. And the old man you saw who often dozed off on the couch in the warm winter sun disappeared forever at noon one day.
However, none of this touched you. It's just the personality of years turning frost into rain, just the way of time. It shakes you, and you shake it. You kept putting on makeup and removing makeup in front of the mirror, and your hair was untied. Like me, you forgot to count. How many spring, summer, autumn and winter have you spent?
But I have my own scenery, spreading in the depths of the years, unreachable and silent. I will not grow old with it, nor will it change with me; It never entangles in dust, but thrives in the deepest place; I have never been invited to leave, let alone come to say goodbye, because there is the original scenery of my life.
It was a snowfield with a row of indomitable nameless trees on it. Although the cold wind has raised sparkling snow particles, I am still willing to open my arms and embrace its coldness and flawless. I would also like to stand as a stalwart tree, together with rows of loyal sentries, to prove the height of the blue sky in the deepest place.
This is a long and quiet road. I walked alone on the soft leaves on the ground. In the deepest place, there is a pure sunset waiting for me. It will not leave a warm figure, but give me love and tolerance. Always remember to shed its golden light obliquely, so that I can find my way back.
It was a bamboo forest in the moonlight, and the cool moonlight dripped like water. In the silent night, I seem to hear the sound of brightness breaking at the tip of the blade. In the deepest place, I uncovered the bound figure and lay on the cool basket paved with dreams, waiting for the broken moonlight to fall gently.
That's my mother's loving eyes, distant and kind. It contains everything that can't be contained in the world, and gives me strong hints, so that I can go forward bravely in the storm. In the deepest place, I quietly thickened a regret, which made me see the fragility I never knew.
I keep moving forward in my life, but these never-drifting landscapes stay in place with the years and blend in with my soul from time to time. Its broad arms will never abandon me, because it lives with me, and no dust can blind it, because it contains dust together.
It is a vigorous tree, with endless branches and leaves, bearing the ups and downs of a lifetime in the high sky. I keep pursuing its height and its distance, because in the deepest place, it is the eternal original landscape.
Prose 4 in the depths of the scenery reminds me of Jiangnan written by literati. Peach blossoms have crossed the river in early spring, the wind shakes the clear water, and swallows are inclined in the rain. The sky in the northwest is still filled with endless dust, and the countryside is full of cross-country, turning vicissitudes and desolation.
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First, the red willows are vague, but the sand is piled up into hills.
Walking along the unrecognizable river in my hometown, there is still a faint shadow of red willow. In the khaki sandbag, occasionally a few dark gray twigs stick out, like an old man, telling the changes of the world and things in the past 30 years.
Tamarix ramosissima, also known as Tamarix ramosissima, is a shrub or small tree, which likes to grow in arid sandy land and saline-alkali land. My hometown is adjacent to the desert, forming a triangle with two winding rivers, Baita River on the right and Hongliuwan River on the left. Liu Hong, since I was sensible, grew up silently on both sides of Hongliuwan. Hongliuwan River may be named after this once lush red willow.
More than 30 years ago, the river in Hongliuwan was clear and winding, with dense Hongliuwan and mighty reeds on both sides. There are tall and straight poplars, such as sentries, on the embankment 100 meters, which are heroic and spirited among the blue sky and white clouds. Together with the red willows, they stopped the sandstorm in the hinterland of the desert and sang the prelude to peaceful coexistence.
There are many blank sands between the river bank and the water edge. Desert plants such as Haloxylon ammodendron and Artemisia annua grow on the sand. The leaves are light green with a layer of silver granules on them. The river sparkled in the sunlight. Perhaps it is because of these plants that the river is complete and vivid.
In addition to sand, there are wetlands in the river bend. A piece of wetland, covered with white alkali, looks like the snow peak of Qilian Mountain from a distance, and there is a rustling sound when stepping on it. Hongliu grows on these "snow peaks", perhaps because of such harsh environment. It is generally not tall or thick, only as thick as chopsticks, and its branches hang freely, showing its bright red and gorgeous in the saline-alkali land under the scorching sun, and at the same time giving the sky a little warmth and elegance.
Hongliu has excellent toughness. In the growing period, the trunk is dark red with purple flowers. After the flower fails, the fruit bears hairy seeds.
I remember when I was a child, things were bad at home. My brother and I often go to the river with sickles according to my father's arrangement, cut off thin wicker, tie it up with long wicker, carry it home, peel it off and give it to my father. It is a white branch. My father used it to make baskets and hedges of different sizes for family use. We used these baskets and hedges to carry back the hardships and hardships of that era and salvage the life belonging to that era, although it was bitter and glorious.
We are young and inexperienced and like this job very much. We usually go with us, and many friends, like us, are ordered to chop wicker or shovel pig grass. We get together, pick out wickers that are too small to be used from the cut wickers, form wicker circles according to our size, and then use flowers of grass growing on the shore, such as morning glory and bitter vegetables. Small white flowers, as long and thin as wheat ears on pigtail grass, are inserted on the edge of the wicker circle, and together with the purple flowers on the branches of red willows, they become a very beautiful and shaded wreath. Wearing it on your head will bring endless childhood fun and the beauty and pride of that era.
At that time, we were still young and never paid attention to the relationship between the beautiful environment and ecological conservation of this water area and mangroves.
No matter how old we are, for the sake of dreams, life and home, we spare no effort to wander at countless crossroads and constantly pursue the so-called self-worth. The shadows of Liu Hong and Hongliuwan gradually disappeared from our sight.
Years have passed, and I have never been confused. However, the hair of that river, that red willow tree, often appears in my dreams. It turns out that hometown is a cherished seed, which was planted in my heart that year. It is bred in every spring, summer, autumn and winter, breaking ground in time and taking root, just like this spring.
I am here, facing this small river with only a trickle, facing the branches and roots of red willow that have become firewood in every yard. I can't imagine the life course of red willow from numerous to residual in these 30 years.
The endless flying sand is still leafing through the vicissitudes and desolation of this sky. I was sitting next to the red willow sand pile with fine leaves, and suddenly I remembered a sentence in Ma Zhiyuan's "Tianjingsha", "Under the red willow tree, people are destined to get together!"
Second, listen to incense, idle dreams.
There is also a plant "Elaeagnus angustifolia" along the river with red willows, which has the same fate.
It used to stand on the bank of Baita River, without the concise shape of red willow, nor the gigantic height of poplar, twisting its ugly body, and I don't know how many years it has stood in this world. There is no way to prove it. I only know that since I was sensible, it has stood by the river with a strong body, like a group of untrained but responsible veterans.
Walking on the riverbed without a drop of water, as long as you see the once fragrant Elaeagnus angustifolia tree on the river bank, only branches and deep pits are left, you can imagine that it has grown for a long time.
At the edge of the fork, occasionally there will be new twigs with sand. With the arrival of spring, they plucked thin silver branches and stood stubbornly and alone in the sand, as if remembering absolute beauty.
Elaeagnus angustifolia is tall, diverse and ugly. Their roots are deeply rooted in the sand of the river bank, and the trees are twisted like snakes, bending down and reaching the middle of the river. The branches are tangled, and the iron-blue bark is cracked with irregular, old and shriveled holes, such as the rough and strong face of the northwest old farmer.
Elaeagnus angustifolia is a very drought-tolerant tree species, and now it is mostly used in shelterbelts along the front line of sandstorms. When we were young, our impression of Elaeagnus angustifolia only stayed on its supply to our taste buds.
In early March, silver twigs were pulled from the rough cracked bark. When they grow to four or five inches, we can't wait to climb the tree, break the delicate branches and buds, sit on the branches that can support our bodies, and peel off the silvery sandy substances on the epidermis. The water sample is light green, crisp, sweet and a little astringent.
Flowers bloom in May, and the branches are covered with yellow flowers the size of rice grains and the shape of small golden bells. Coupled with the wind, the village is full of fragrance.
Many times, in the afternoon sunshine, we will climb trees and fold branches full of Elaeagnus angustifolia flowers, take them home and put them in cans and bottles filled with half a bottle of water. The room will smell fragrant, which has captured my sense of smell for half a century.
Perhaps the pace of the times has gone too fast, and my thinking has been unable to keep up with the rhythm of new things. Among all kinds of perfumes, there has never been a perfume whose smell can make me cherish like that of Elaeagnus angustifolia.
Elaeagnus angustifolia has a long flowering period, usually up to half a month. The flower is backward, and there is a green fruit as big as a soybean at the base of the flower. At that time, the fruit was very sour and difficult to swallow, so we usually forget its existence. Occasionally pick one and throw it into our mouth, which will definitely make you deduce all kinds of facial expressions and then spit it out quickly.
When autumn comes to October, the fruit turns red, like Elaeagnus angustifolia with a big thumb, hidden under the silver leaves of Elaeagnus angustifolia, which not only tempts the eyes, but also increases the greed of taste buds.
When we were young, there were not so many rich snacks now. At the stage when Elaeagnus angustifolia is about to mature, the Elaeagnus angustifolia tree that was lovelorn will once again become the focus of our attention. We climb the tree every day and pick a few to taste, from astringent to sour to sweet.
Waiting is like feeding a child with a full moon, watching it grow and get fat day by day, and finally the beads become round and smooth.
Elaeagnus angustifolia, round and smooth, was not very delicious when it was first picked. Many times, after I pick it, I give it to grandma with little feet and fry it in a pot. When the skin is a little burnt, I will cook, and the last bit of sour taste left on Elaeagnus angustifolia will be gone. The faint fragrance floating out of the pot tempted me to do greedy things, so my little hands were often burned red.
Throw one in your mouth, it's sweet and delicious. Today, many years later, I slowly reminisce about the time that I can't find back. That smell, that is, the taste of hometown, often stays at the corners of the mouth. When you are tired and lonely, when you think of it, there will be a warm current full of wandering spirit.
At the moment, I am listening to incense, but you are dreaming. I don't know if you watched the river too long and retired, or if this place failed you and made you tired.
Looking at the deep dark tree pit, I seem to see the long-standing figure of Elaeagnus angustifolia. With its ugly body and flying silver leaves, it is deeply rooted. It blocks the dust, protects the mother river and sends a wisp of fragrance and warmth to the residents on both sides!
Third, the sound of the waves is euphemistic, and the dream becomes a water town.
Baita River, a little-known river, originated from the snowy water of Qilian Mountain in Tianzhu Tibetan Autonomous County and belongs to Hong Yashan Reservoir in the hinterland of Shaxiang (Minqin County). There is a small bridge with brick-concrete structure on the river. The bridge is about 200 meters long, and there are four groups of bridge opening with average size under it. There are all kinds of particularly vigorous trees growing on the river bank, such as poplar, red willow, Elaeagnus angustifolia and elm.
Maybe it's because the river is so small that no one will know it exists except the villagers in Shiliba Village, my hometown.
At that time, the river was full of water, flowing like a soothing moonlight, without the roar of the sea and the rapidity of the river, as clear as nothingness. There are different kinds of fish swimming in the water, and there are large tracts of rich aquatic plants on the river bank, such as endless grasslands. Sheep graze leisurely on the grass, while we sheep herders play freely in the embrace of this river.
In the summer afternoon, after the adults who had been tired all morning fell asleep, we roared out of the gate like an arrow and arrived at the destination "Baita River". After running to the river, find a cool and dry place, take off your clothes and jump into the underground river. Laughter rang all over the river in an instant.
At noon, the river is warm, close to the temperature of the human body, and it is very comfortable to go into the water. But playful, we don't care about the temperature of water. We soaked our bodies in water for less than a minute, and our eyes were fixed on the small fish and shrimp swimming in the lush grass ahead, holding our breath and approaching slowly, and grasping them quickly with our hands. In many cases, the result is very small.
The same is true of childhood heart, which rejects the word "patience" extremely. Coupled with the harassment of leeches swimming in the river and sneaking midges in the air, under normal circumstances, they will give up automatically after less than a few minutes. Fortunately, the purpose of going to the river at that time was not just fishing, just like splashing water on each other and fighting with each other (swimming), just a game.
I was a little thin when I was young, and a little thin among my peers. I was born with a deep fear of mollusks. Many times, when I happily carry the small fish I touched back to the small puddle of prisoners dug in advance on the beach by the river, I will find at least one or two thin and long leeches stuck to my calf. So, after a flurry, I threw away the small fish that I finally touched and ran away with my legs apart, in this way to urge the leeches to fall. Most of the time, this method is effective, but there are exceptions. Those who inhale deeply usually shrink into a small ball, and you can't run away. I dare not shoot with my hands, because I am afraid of grasshoppers. I usually sit down and pick up my shoes to shoot.
When the hateful little things settle down, I will hear the laughter and shouts of my friends clapping their hands in the river to watch my jokes. However, this situation is not unique to me. Many partners have similar situations, so I never care. I turned to look at the dying fish with its big mouth open on the beach, picked it up, went downstream again, put it in the water, and then watched it drift with the tide.
When the shadows of the trees are oblique, we gather tiny gains, such as small goldfish with black bean eyes, three-tailed fish with beautiful tails, dog fish that can only be fed to cats, and occasionally a few shrimps that go home in glass bottles, with a sense of accomplishment on their faces.
At that time, our family was in a bad situation. Every family keeps a few sheep. When we got home, we put up baskets and shovels to mow the pigs, open the sheepfold and drive three or two sheep out of the house without parents' orders. The direction of progress is still the direction of the river.
Sheep know where they are going. After they were released, they ran into the grass alone. After putting the sheep on the grass, they began to shovel grass for their pigs.
At this time, we work quickly, because we miss watermelons and cucumbers.
There is no era of out-of-season vegetables and fruits, only fruits that can be eaten in summer and autumn. Therefore, the watermelons and cucumbers planted by the production team across the river have undoubtedly become our goal. A group of six people, two on guard, two stealing melons, two meeting in the river. Usually, a deeper pit is dug in the river in advance, and the stolen loot is buried in the sand in the water. Then it runs ashore, picks up a basket full of pig grass and wades through it. Then, it digs out the fruits and sits on the riverbank to comfort the long-awaited greedy insects and hungry stomach.
The sweet smell of watermelon made me stand on the riverbed full of sundries for half a century. It is as sweet as the water in a small river, with the desolation of weathering in the vicissitudes of life, entering this once-waters and my equally desolate heart at this moment.
Looking around, red, white and black plastic bags and plastic bottles are scattered on the riverbed, hanging on the dead branches lying on the beach, hunting and screaming, flaunting their arrogance. In the ruins, I can't find a clean stream and clean green sand.
These species that never appeared in the countryside more than 30 years ago, as well as the yellow sand and dust all over the river, let me see the fruits of victory. Did they eat and swallow this once clear river?
The laughter in the river is still in my ears, the interest picked up in the river is still in front of me, and the yearning for us in the river is still in my dream, but the river looks so unrecognizable.
At sunset, I looked up to the west, picked up a handful of yellow sand, and watched the sand slowly flow away through my fingers, turning page by page like a calendar of years. I seem to see some fragments scattered in the depths of time, a little starlight, images in dreams, the warm breath of life and youth and the spirituality like ice and snow. In the palm of my hand, it is like an ink painting, so clear and holy, with the myth of stars and moons, sinking into my inner memory, sinking into the quiet river, and the scenery is still beautiful.