Fullness and leisure, absoluteness and fragrance are in sharp contrast. It seems that the more leisurely you are, the more fragrant the exotic fragrance is.
Wang Changling, a poet of the Tang Dynasty, "Inscribed on the Two Tung Trees in the Monk's Room" expresses the true state of Zen enlightenment - the non-reflective sound system. This little poem is also "like the sound in the air, the color in the picture, the moon in the water, the image in the mirror, the words are endless but the meaning is endless."
This is very consistent with my impression of palm trees.
Mei Yaochen of the Song Dynasty wrote a poem about palm: green palm trees, scattered leaves like wheels.
Most of the palm trees in my hometown are not tall. When I was a child, I could jump up and pick the golden palm tree seeds that looked like fish roes.
We call it Xiu Mi (not millet), and it is said to be edible. I have never eaten it, and rarely play with Xiu Mi. The palm leaves are often used by us to weave various gadgets.
My childhood was like water, with a pair of old hands, as skillful as flowers, using newly grown yellow and white palm leaves to teach us how to weave bamboo baskets, weave grasshoppers, weave goldfish, weave little snakes... …
Clumsy as it is, I like making little snakes the most, because it is the simplest, but I find it the most imaginative and I can’t put it down.
It was also at this time,
We three siblings were playing around our great-grandmother’s knees,
The wind was soft and the sun was warm,
At that time Time is slow,
Looking at it now,
it has become the same as before.
The previous "Compendium of Materia Medica" mentioned that palm skin is used as a rope, which will last a thousand years after being buried.
On rainy days, when Grandpa didn’t invite anyone to play cards or chess, he would sit in front of the hall, on the eaves, twisting brown ropes and knitting straw sandals.
Listening to the sound of grandpa spitting, the thick and broad hands are wrapped with brown silk. It seems easy, but it must be a meticulous job. To be so easy and quick, one must suffer losses and be overbearing.
The thunder was muffled and the rain was pouring.
Grandpa was silent and silent, concentrating on the brown rope in his hands that was gradually taking shape...
After a long time, the brown rope is still as strong as ever.
Green bamboo hat, brown coir raincoat,
Brown brush, brown broom, brown shoes, brown silk bed,
Everything can be turned into an article,
I feel homesick every time.
Nowadays, people of my generation in rural areas should not know how to rub brown rope, right? The role of palm trees has also declined.
Shi Zhen said: ...it must be peeled off two or three times every year, otherwise the tree will die or not grow. ...
No wonder the palm trees in the village always look like they did in childhood.
Under the setting sun, the evening breeze blows, and the palm leaves like cattail fans reflect the golden light, ringing the prelude of dusk in the mountains.
Non-brown leaves such as cattail fans, which are made of palm leaves.
Cut the palm leaves into circles, leave the stems as handles, and trim them with a circle of bamboo strips or sewn cloth.
After dinner, the family sat around on couches, bamboo stools, and bamboo beds,
talking about the harvest field.
At this time, the palm leaves are no longer covered with glow,
but are swaying with the coolness of the night sky and the Milky Way.
Children’s interesting stories about the past that adults have never had,
Adults ask children about their innocent childhood dreams.
And the bamboo fence beside the cattle pen is covered with pumpkin vines.
The weavers on the vine leaves make a sound of "weaving, weaving",
Unabashedly, they compete to attract their wives.
Not only do fireflies love to join in the fun,
Flies and mosquitoes are even harder to drive away.
Only cattail fans are flying, shaking the fields, bamboo forests and pine hills.
The cattail fan has an indelible fragrance of palm,
a fragrance similar to thatch and rice flowers.
The years are rolling slowly, and most of all, the time is passing by inadvertently in the wrist of the great-grandmother wearing a green cloth shirt.
Chickens pecked at the rice and eagles circled, all chased by the slightly hunchbacked great-grandmother in a hug.
Once, as the oldest old man in the village,
On the edge of the field, on the eaves,
raised his fan and looked into the distance with a frown,
Welcome and send.