Wind, a cool feeling.
June breeze blows, memory decreases, refreshing, from fingertips to the bottom of my heart. The stiff body swings with the wind when standing. The leaves are dancing gently, and the rustling sound is intoxicating and warm, moving in the noisy rhythm. I gently shed the sweat stains on my body, looked for the feelings of teenagers, and sent myself clearly into vague memories.
The wind is a ship from the clouds, full of childhood dreams and changing ideas on the water side. So I came to the place where there was water, reflecting the reflection of the wind, but I couldn't catch it. Any trace of melancholy disappears in the smoke. The wind blows the ripples on the water surface and stretches in the pure sight. It danced softly and gracefully in the waves, intoxicated and overturned in the humid air.
Dress becomes messy in wanton enjoyment, like an uncontrollable mood. It dispels the sadness, drifts in the wind, condenses into a blank sheet of paper, calls for the echo of innocence, leaves heavy creases, turns into a paper plane, and flies in the just journey with the wind as the road. The curved arc in the air is a smile, a cry and an unfinished dream. When the paper plane glides around, my thoughts are also in one place.
The disappointment of the wind lies in the cloud, the wind said, I often envy the cloud, because it is white floating in my heart.
Clouds, white floating in my heart.
Clouds, floating around, dancing with the wind, floating into the blue sky with my blessing. What I pursue is a white dream, light and soft. It is the cradle of other people's fascination. I watched and ran until I chased it to the other side of the mountain. It's still so close and so far away from me. I am confused and disappointed. I wonder whether I should keep running or wait at the edge of my watch. How can the beauty of cotton wool not be envied? How can its ever-changing figure not be fascinating? The sun shone on it, and it covered its sunny face with its body, so its soft lines turned golden again. Turned into a horse, a fish, ups and downs, flowers. Beautiful as a girl and lively as a child. I want to fly to it and have it. But I don't know how to treat it and have it. It is a sacred petal in my heart. I'm afraid to fly in my hand and melt in my mouth.
I often dream that I become a cloud, colorful and free to come and go. The wind is my companion, and we swim freely in the ocean of the sky with me. We learn from the pious Kuafu and race against the sun. The wind told me that we left a story of clouds wandering in the sky. I told the wind not to run too fast. Kuafu in heaven is looking forward to our victory. The wind began to blow hard and I ran. I forgot the space. The sun tanned my skin and I smiled at the wind. Nothing, it's a healthy color. During the running, I heard Kuafu's shouts and cheers, and I saw the sun's appreciative smile. The wind says that running is a kind of strength, and we forget why we chase it. I said that sometimes chasing is unnecessary, because it is a pious belief.
The sun is setting, and we are scattering bits and pieces all the way. The wind said it was going to rain. I said, no, it's wet spirit, the soul of water.
Rain, wet spirit, water spirit.
The warm rain in the sky weaves into a scattered water curtain. The dry world becomes wet with the sound of ticking. The leaves have become greener, the air has become brighter, and people's mood has begun to become active. Walking in the rain with an umbrella, let the rain beat my heart for many years and turn it into a deep and shallow puddle on the ground. The green hills in the distance are surrounded by smoke waves. People can't help but think of the idyllic, picturesque, singing and fairyland-like paradise. There are no drifting fishing boats on the smoky river, but my mind is still immersed in the situation of "green bamboo hat, green hemp fiber, no need to go back in the oblique wind and drizzle" and I don't want to go out.
The warm rain washed away the dust of history, but I couldn't restore it, and I couldn't clearly describe the joys and sorrows of the ancients. So I can only hold a small umbrella, walk on the road that my predecessors have traveled, savor the distant stories with youthful thoughts, and then turn into soil to hide the fragrance. The rain trickled down and slipped away quietly in the gap of the path, just like a girl hiding a sad past in a whisper. Through the rain curtain, what I see is still just a rain, a path, a lonely river, and me, standing alone in the wind and rain with a small umbrella.
That rain is the wet spirit, the soul of water. It just turned many touching stories into dirt, and even the fragrance was hidden in the dirt. The fragrance in the air may be the sustenance of the story or my poor daydream. My tears echo the rain, and I can't tell which is rain and which is tears. I wonder if it is the soul of water.
It's still raining, but I can't understand it. I can only look at its posture in the rain and fog.
A little condensed smoke
At night, a cool breeze came through, smelling the jasmine in front of the window lightly, and the elegant fragrance merged into a gentle touch, which made the stars sleepless. Just then, I heard a song "A little condensed smoke". Classical and gentle music came slowly, like an old friend after a long separation, trekking in Qian Shan to find me. Looking back, I met me at the moment when jasmine was fragrant. I am very happy. Open your heart and welcome the sound of nature. The perfect combination of erhu and guzheng is reminiscent of a plate of jade liquid filled with pearls of all sizes, and a melodious melancholy makes people sad. Close your eyes and let your thoughts drift into a butterfly born in Zhuang, branding the beauty of Shanghai Moon and flying away in the vast warmth of Lantian.
The voice of the guzheng, like water that has been cold for a winter, swings into a soft cavity in the spring season, with layers of cascading and green waves rippling. Imagine, on the moonlit night of the Twenty-four Bridges, the flute was changed into a guzheng song, gently telling the regrets of the previous dynasty. That was 1000 years ago, the earthly wind and frost shook the southern red beans and frozen the horizon. Why, a little concentrated smoke music? Every note is like a maid standing with her head down, and the pear-like face falls on the green willow on the palace wall. Guzheng, like water, carries many dreams of life and floats in the depths of the world of mortals. How many years have passed, like still water. As beautiful as flowers and jade, I have already thanked the bonus in a hurry. In the artistic conception of meditation, the guzheng is coiled into a continuous mountain range, and every peak and place is involved with ancient legends. Legend has it that you stay away from the noise all day, read the old adage that a gentleman is cautious and independent, blend in with nature and look down on life. This mountain of guzheng music left a rut when Confucius traveled around the world. In the deep and shallow traces, there is an eternal motto: "Zhi Zhi will decide, but it will be quiet, quiet and peaceful, safe and considerate, and will gain something from consideration." .
The bitterness of erhu will always be cold to my ears, and it will always accuse me of blood and tears. In this piece of music, the rhythm of erhu is softened into smoke, flying slowly, flowing like a jade belt, deeply lingering on the mountain top paved with guzheng. Imagine that the mountain peaks are looming, sometimes revealing a corner, and sometimes all hidden, surrounded by smoke, like a dream. Cooking smoke drifts along with the dust on the bank and clings to each other, giving rise to the beauty of the West Lake at dawn. Erhu bursts, lingering and weeping, are plumes of smoke, and the smoke generated by clear water surrounds the flowing water of guzheng, unwilling to disperse and float away, whispering the desolation of you and me according to the water. A little bit of condensation, no, the tenderness of smoke melts the snow, and the water flowing into the white snake flows through the magic of Jinshan, witnessing the oath of once in a thousand years. Erhu is like smoke, around mountains, surrounded by water, and mountains and rivers depend on each other. This is a fairyland on earth. During the tour, drink a pot of old wine, hang a sword that touches Green around your waist, take a boat, go with the flow, above the clear water and under the blue sky.
The tinkling sound of the piano, such as the morning bell and the evening drum, has sounded several dreams on earth and aroused many real memories. It is the long wind blowing from the dust in the past that swept my slightly confused heart and turned a rare peace into a seed and implanted it in my heart. I should sincerely visit it and let it grow into a towering tree. Erhu is melodious I flashed a trace and fell into the vast universe. Looking back on the distant past, I only heard condensed smoke and a little crying dust. The night is like water, and the music is like water, which has soaked my meager sleeves. Fun or not?
A little condensed smoke surrounds the clear water, and half a breeze bypasses the broken bridge. Thinking about it, I lost my way. Anyway, I can't close my scattered thoughts and wander with the beautiful melody of "a little condensed smoke" Caring for mountains and rivers and watching the Millennium sun and moon is the truest and most primitive hope in my heart. I have lost many dreams in every journey of my life, but this feeling is still in my mind.
Holding the fragrance of jasmine, a little condensed smoke sewed a beautiful dress for me. When I put it on, I was intoxicated and felt the beauty of integration from the heart to the outside. At this moment, my heart is clear, and I want to put aside my greed, anger and delusion. Zhang Ailing said, "What is short is life, and what is long is suffering." Be kind to yourself in a fleeting life.
The Buddhist scripture says: Everyone is born with a thousand kinds of imagination. I heard such a state of mind and such a scene in a little condensed smoke, and realized the taste and concept of Zen. So what do you hear when you listen?