Every time I take a bus, I see rape flowers with heavy makeup and stand in the field full of energy. I can't help reciting Yang Wanli's poem, "The hedge is sparse and the path is deep, and the flowers at the top of the tree are not shaded. Children rushed to chase Huang Die, and there was nowhere to find the cauliflower. " The lively and playful picture of school children flapping butterflies immediately came to mind. It seems that the body is also covered with bits and pieces of tidbits and fragrant flowers, and a faint fragrance strikes between breaths, wetting the curtain of memory.
when I was a child, I grew up with rape blossoms. At that time, during the winter vacation, I liked to work in the fields with my brother, especially in the cold winter. When all life is dormant under the majesty of winter, the unchangeable tone of my brother's words: "Go, plant rape" prompted me to set off with my hoe.
planting rape is a meticulous job, which requires weeding the whole field. The soil in winter is semi-dry and semi-wet. When you hoe it, it is sticky. In less than a few times, the whole hoe is full, and it is very laborious to swing it. Soon after, I was panting, sweating under my armpit, and my arm was weak, so I rested on the hoe handle. We worked hard for a long time, finally tidied up half an acre of land, planed many neat furrows and began to sow. Naturally, I am responsible for sowing seeds, which is a light job, and the light things in the tired are the result of my laziness. People, that's it, this has sprouted in my young mind. Just like this small rapeseed, it is also reluctant to take root in the cold winter. Looking at the mountains and rivers, which one is not silent under the arrogance of winter, shrinking life? The expanding desire has already solidified with the ice, but it is cold but not crystal clear. At present, the rapeseed squeezed in my hand is also worried: such a tiny particle can even be described in small words, and a weak life can survive the severe winter, let alone in the cool and icy soil? Life is not only lonely, but also a black world waiting for the sharp beak of life to drill through. I think, who gave the weak rapeseed the mission and strength? Who can forgive it for not being able to withstand the cold water and erosion? Is it the earth or the sky?
Brother's cough woke my mind. I started sowing seeds, covering seeds and leveling the soil. When everything was ready, I took a long sigh. But I think, any weak life needs to go through experience and suffering, in order to develop an independent heart and grow tenaciously? In the vast expanse of land, the whole connotation of winter drama is these countless tiny particles? I am thinking with uneasy heart, thinking about the dignity and humble eye contact, which can better knock on the window of winter, and the sonorous and stirring sound of cymbals in generate, which will delight and enlighten the harvest. The road to Jane may be as simple as sleeping alone in the soft soil, without elegant dowry and musical accompaniment. Is this the call and explanation that winter gives to spring? In the confusion, I couldn't help smiling. I don't know which undercurrent is surging, but I feel pity alone, looking for the newly turned soil from time to time, thin and stupid.
"Go home," my brother shouted. "In a few days, when they are about inches tall after core pulling, let's weed and fertilize again."
"oh?" Looking at the gloomy day, when the heavy snow is coming, my heart can't help but thump, as if a needle stung and a bee stung.
"is it in winter?" I added.
"hmm"
In the winter in the south of the Yangtze River, everything is curled up because of the damp and cold weather and the blowing wind, and the occasional sporadic heat is _ _ _ _, which is like a little groan. Dry grass, trees, vegetables, etc. are all silent in the cold, lazy and powerless. Even the leaves are solidified pale green, too lazy to show off. I don't want to grab nutrients, nourishing a longing for spring. But my rape arrived as scheduled, short, tender and green, jumping out of the dark soil and into the cold winter. This is not, like a sentry, neatly arranged in the field. Dignified posture. I think, if I have traveled through the dark world and suffered from cold and lonely loneliness, I will definitely smile with a wanton flying attitude. However, the rape in front of me, between the stems, leaves and leaves, is as quiet and soft as water, low, spreading the green flat on the fields, full and connected, presenting the green to winter, letting the cold wind wreak havoc, but never skinny. Look, fluffy green and full stems are the best questions for severe winter. Just wait for the most forgetful kiss and the most enjoyable nostalgia of bees and butterflies. Just wait for the most childlike smile to bloom, just wait for the couple to hug and kiss in the golden flowers, and sprinkle the purest whisper, which is as beautiful as yellow flowers.
Yes, a spring thunder rattled and shattered the winter nightmare. In the chilly spring, people moved in groups of three and five, along the direction of spring, to the fields and to the golden rape fields. Towards an endless desire. Rape, never spare your feelings. Green leaves, flowing golden yellow, bloom in the mighty spring breeze, such as Tang poetry and Song poetry, even and graceful, graceful or bold, all accept distant tourists with ethereal mind. There is no biting fluff, no tangled roots, only wet and slippery fragrance, only the snuggling of yellow flowers, leaving you a baptism and sublimation of your soul and a conversion along the distant home: life only blooms in the earliest spring and ends in the rich mid-spring.
from this, I think of colorful peach blossoms, white apricot blossoms, like poetic pear blossoms, blooming on high branches, just waiting for a look of tourists and a high praise. So, what about rape blossoms at this time? Isn't it the warriors and wise men who sneak in life? Don't compete with flowers, don't compete with thousands of trees, just keep your own pulse, keep your promise to your homeland, and let the wandering experience of a winter get new sculptures. Then the perfect green curtain call for spring.
I think that everything that grows in the soil is a singer of life after severe winter torture. You see, the rape blossoms all over the mountains and plains are fragrant in the soft spring breeze and swaying in people's smiles. Isn't it a kind of cheer for life?
In the distance, a golden poem is spreading along the ancient post road.