Winter is always a depressing season in my mind.
The plane trees on both sides of the road are no longer green, and the lawn is no longer as soft as in summer.
If summer is the rainbow-like dream crushed among the floating algae, then winter is like a crystal ball floating in the night, so clean and pure, but also lonely and desolate.
Crazy Red Leaves Flying Up
The wind blows, the clouds surge, and the fallen leaves carry fine dust and soar up to 90,000 miles, swaying and flying all over the sky.
I feel the wind in Beijing again.
Someone told me: "The north wind is mixed with yellow sand, moistening my eyes. Those are not tears, but my heart is bleeding." This sentence instantly reminded me of the Gobi, the Sahara, and the endless khaki color. What appeared before his eyes was the vast desert and the red sun approaching the horizon. It was not bright red, but rather a yellow with a layer of light sand on top of the red. It was not dazzling, but it was so tragic.
Duanmu Hongliang said: "The north is sad." Indeed, those vast but desolate lands, the soaring black geese, and the dry river beds... make people moved. However, the north is also rich. Our first ancestors were raised there. They drove their flocks slowly from afar, and the wind and sand blew their clothes, and the sound of Hujia was heard constantly. Our first civilization was nurtured there. Huangdi, Zhuanxu, Emperor Ku, Tang Yao, Yushun, Taihao, Shaohao, the first emperors worked hard to rule on this ancient land. There, our first ballad was sung, and the man's rough voice accompanied the woman's clear singing, filling the air. In the land of the north, the bones of our ancestors are buried, the pioneers of our civilization are buried, and the roots of our nation are buried.
The wind is howling, and even if the doors and windows are closed, the "hissing" cry of the wind can still be heard in the ears.
The willow trees on the roadside all fell to one side, swaying their soft branches wantonly, and the shadow of the phoenix bamboo flashed in my mind, and I suddenly realized that maybe the pretty "phoenix tail" of the phoenix bamboo was originated from the graffiti of the wind.
The most comfortable thing in the strong wind is probably the banners flying in the wind. They broke away from the shackles of ropes and barbed wire, and presented the most pious dance to the freedom not far away. Although half of them are still tied to the barbed wire, they see hope and the sunshine in the distance...
The howling wind adds a touch of chill to the winter.
The boundless falling trees are rustling
One morning, I suddenly discovered that there were endless fallen leaves in front of me.
It is difficult to find the shadow of leaves on the sycamore tree. Only the bare branches are left, dividing the sky between the fingers into small pieces. The ground was covered with dry leaves, which were piled up thickly. It seemed that the gust of wind last night had blown all the leaves off and spread them into this mottled carpet in front of you.
I can’t bear to step on those fallen leaves, as if the breaking sounds are the tremors of the soul. Maybe it was the sound coming from the land, which was slight but extremely heavy. When fallen leaves return to the soil and their origins, what will they become? When they become part of the dust, will anyone still remember their past existence and past glory?
Life will eventually come to an end, and we will eventually embrace our own land, and like the Russian moon Akhmatova said in her poem, "call it informally: 'our land.'" Perhaps a long time later, our traces in this world will disappear like these fallen leaves, and no one will know where it is.2009In the early morning of 2010, some people walked on this road, and some people stopped to look at the fallen leaves, but we can still have this beautiful and brilliant life.
Eternity is like a beautiful fairy tale that cannot be realized. In this case, why not live the passing days well? Humming your favorite songs and dancing freely on the street. Walking to a brisk rhythm, holding a friend's hand, walking through one street after another. Watching the sunrise and sunset quietly, the meaning of life has naturally been told to us.
The wind is picking up, the leaves are rustling, and there seems to be signs of life surging under the land.
