Smoke and rain, spring river water warm, ducks playing in the water. The breeze gently flicked the willow, blowing face not cold. Fine rain caught the breath of apricot blossoms, stained clothes want to wet. There is a woman washing clothes by the water's edge. I looked at her from afar and felt a sense of déjà vu. The white clothes, green skirt, the flow of the eyes, shell-like teeth, the cloud-like hair, green onion-like hand ...... water rattling, and the ducks cawing, so harmonious and beautiful. Gently, I walked toward her, as if afraid of stepping on a ground of moonlight, as if afraid of touching a fragile dream, gently, go. Instead, she departed, just as I was about to come to her. Carrying a wooden basin, she went slowly. Into a verdant bamboo forest. Rustling, rustling, in the empty montage, there seemed to be shallow laughter.
In late spring. Along a zigzagging path. The floor of the green stone, the moss on the side of the road is already dark green. Away, a thatched cottage, hidden in the depths of the pear blossom. The rain hit the pear blossoms, the door is closed. In the rain of petals falling like snow, whose voice curls up continuously, chanting the broken-hearted `poetry? Do not open the curtain, afraid to see flying flowers, afraid to hear the crying cuckoo. Quietly, I go, can not bear to interrupt your sentimental thoughts, can not bear to see your confused tearful eyes.
Summer is coming, right? Listen to the song on the river. It is such a joyous scene to follow the sound. Look at the boundless blue lotus on the water, pink, white and red lotus flowers. The women with lotus leaves and skirts cut in one color and hibiscus blooming on both sides of their faces, swinging in their orchid boats, like fairies in the water, are wandering above the water. A colorful song, sing all the romance and passion of summer, sing all the youth of the lotus picking women. This youthful bloom, there must be hibiscus flowers, there must be the song of the harmony. The only way to stand up to this beautiful and slightly green season.
It is full to flow out of the juice of the summer. The night of the fireflies. Thin night mist, indistinct. Gathered together, and spread out, such as my soul, in the faint fragrance of grass and trees cruising. Banana trees stand still in the night, through the black net bright water droplets along the Qiqi Chu Chu leaf veins slide down. What you can see is an old wooden house with a star on the eaves, and the green slate steps underneath are refreshingly cool. The moon is in the sky, spilling a green and white.
In my dream, Jiangnan seems to have only these two seasons: spring and summer. It seems to be always in the depths of the flowers and alleys by the water. It seems that there is always a lilac girl.
In my dream, I don't know who I am. Perhaps I was in a previous life, perhaps a wisp of ghost that stayed away, or just a drop of water and a petal in Jiangnan.
In my dream, I don't know who I am.