-reading LAM Raymond's prose poetry collection "Everything on Earth"
Chongqing Yuchang Gas Tap Water Co., Ltd.? Zhou Hongjun
LAM Raymond was my childhood friend, and we grew up in a village. The village is very small, with only more than twenty families. Her home is close to mine. Calling her name in the east, she will certainly hear it in the west. Cooking in the east, the smell of food like wings along the path into her heart. Then at dawn, I shouted at the entrance of the village, and she would definitely go out tacitly. We walked hand in hand on Tiankan Road with our schoolbags on our backs. The roadside is lush forests and laughing wildflowers, and occasionally dandelion petals floating from Longxi River are sprinkled on me and LAM Raymond. We walked to school and our happy childhood with pure white cotton.
Adjacent to my hometown is our paradise.
LAM Raymond is the child who walked out of our village. At present, he is engaged in health management in a 3A hospital in Chongqing. In her spare time, she wrote a collection of prose poems called Things on Earth. This book of poems, which took her a year to write, contains a recitation of nature, a feeling of life, a nostalgia for the past and a sketch of her hometown. Especially for her affectionate writing about the Inner Peak, the place where we live together, she used a series of pages, and nine articles were distributed in it, like the Big Dipper in the sky, which is far away, but inseparable, unable to leave the bed in the sky, unable to leave the breath of every grass and tree, the close relationship between one solar term and another, and the care of the pomelo forest by Torin Temple. After reading this collection of prose poems, my eyes stayed for a long time in the series "Villages Over which Birds Fly", and bits and pieces of my hometown came to my mind, like sunshine shining on wheat ears and spring flowers nourishing spring.
My hometown is very ordinary, just like most rural areas in China, with smoke, fields, old houses, rivers and rosy clouds. It just grew up with me since I was born, like a note of a tune, played by the mountain wind, gradually stabilized in my heart, as the intonation of my growth, gave me nutrition and condensed into the gene of my life. Just as the author LAM Raymond described beginning of spring in Expressing Twenty-four Solar Terms.
Dirt, wake up from the winter journey.
As soon as you stretch out your hand, a drop of water can be squeezed out of the sky.
Buds of spring, like clouds surging in Xia Hong's face.
The lantern under the eaves touched the first ray of light in the distance.
You look radiant with green honeysuckle.
Maybe it's too long. Chimonanthus praecox looks tired. Light makeup is always appropriate. Shy eyes still exude charming light.
After a season of silence and a big fire, Robinia pseudoacacia stood up like a huge umbrella.
Today, it will raise a glass to the most beautiful married girl in the village.
In spring, the grass is green before it can be green.
Flowers that don't bloom in time, let go of your hands and feet, will bloom soon.
Everything revives in spring, and the spring next door begins with green and red. The handwriting of the Spring Festival couplets is not dry, and the friendship of jasmine in the Spring Festival can't wait long. Hot red can't stop the car, driving at the entrance of the village, at the foot of Toringi and at the tip of the girl's hair. For a time, the village was dyed with festive colors. At this time, the green can't be caged. The fields, the courtyard dams and the flower beds behind the house are all tearing their long throats, shouting, laughing and frolicking until they can't stop, singing the Longxi River day and night, singing the beauty of rhythm and rhythm. LAM Raymond and I, as well as other children in the village, wandered in the story of spring, digging wild vegetables, pulling pig grass and painting henna all over our hands, spilling full happiness into the small village and the distant sky.
I don't know how an ordinary bird spent those dull days in a barren village, making the Longxi River flow happily, making the days clear in his hands, and making the gossip grass love every minute of the countryside.
An ordinary bird song is closely related to many things. The crab in the river has burning eyes, and Longxi River is the jade on the earth in its eyes, with round skin as fresh as an eggshell. The little daisies on the shore, with the sound of birds, tugged at the sleeves of Longxi River and washed the yarn. The footsteps of the boat crossing the river woke up in the mist, dragging full horsepower, and a happy life shook from the deep still water, like a dream of water drifting away from the still water.
In the article "The Village Over which Birds Fly", the author vividly described the birds we saw, and expressed his love for the little life and yearning for his homeland with compassion. Villages with birds are smart and colorful. Every day, Dai Sheng and the crow fly over the village head, singing for a while, thinking of their companions for a while, and screaming out the crisp rhythm of flowers and plants. The warm rhyme in summer, the soothing clouds in autumn and the quiet beauty of everything sleeping in winter draw different scenery in the song of birds. Every day, the village wakes up from the pitch of birdsong, and is silent in the moonlight and the footsteps of birdsong.
God, the crisp voice. Childhood, in the frolic of birds, under the banyan tree by the pond, reveals a touching story. In the future, we will step on the wings of birds and fly straight into the sky and far away.
When we walked out of the village, to the crowded city, to the high-rise building with steel frame and cement, and to the distant place of towards the distant, we found that the fragrance of Shatian pomelo, the smoke from the roof, the vast fields, the green Longxi River and the paths we walked countless times all became my lingering fairy tales. Just like in a dream, I can hold it as soon as I reach out, and when I wake up, my pillow towel is wet with hot tears.
In the evening, I read LAM Raymond's poems over and over again. I realized that the distance we are pursuing is not a city, a noise, a surging crowd or a high-rise building. The hometown of departure is our distant place, and the place branded with life is our destination. As Tao Yuanming painted, the mountains are getting better and better, the birds are back, and we went around for a while. There are white clouds in the blue sky, the wheat seedlings in the green field are jointing, the windmill in the courtyard dam in the village is constantly turning, and there are heavy fruits smiling at me in the Shatian pomelo forest behind the house. When I tore open the clothes of Shatian pomelo, fresh petals suddenly appeared, and the sound of "goo goo" was like.
Just like the prose poetry collection "Everything on Earth", give me a place to live, give me a place to live.