Senior three | Prose | 1803 words
I want to wander, and I really yearn for it. With dry and warm clothes, with my beloved pen that can play with the sun, with my broken heart. ...
At night, when I was like the ancients said, "Take the earth as the seat and the sky as the quilt", I didn't fall asleep, I couldn't sleep. Lying on my naked body in the desert, my heart is full of sacredness. I sincerely held a handful of sand, cold and stiff, and then I closed my eyes like sand, gently opened a sky between my hands, and listened to the sharp roar of sand cutting through the night sky. A grain of sand is a world, and only in this way can I feel that the world is so real that even the stiffness makes my hands feel a faint tingling.
Cold, thick air-conditioning penetrated through my clothes and penetrated into my skin (as you can imagine, in summer, on a cool morning, when you were unprepared, a dewdrop landed on your bare arm, making a beautiful sound, fresh and cold, like a scratch, or like a dagger made of water piercing my skin, with no blood, only the cold of moonlight). In an instant, the air conditioning was completely frozen, embedded in every crack of my skin, and I was covered with cruel ice flowers. There is no song in the desert, but listening to the sound of quicksand is a rare enjoyment. I will stick my ear to the sand. I imagine that in spring, a rare mountain stream, under the warm tread of the sun, the thin ice melts, as crisp as tearing brocade and silk. I imagine that in summer, under the barren hills is a wasteland, and the breeze swoops down from the top of the mountain. When the green water is wrinkled, the sound of grass stems bending is soft, such as the sweetness of honey; I imagine that in autumn, the maple leaves in the depths of the mountains are covered with frost and fall in the fog, which is like a sigh; I imagine that in winter, the long-lost sunshine tears the haze all over the sky and falls on my cheeks and eyelashes like snowflakes. Warm, my heart seems to be basking there, trembling with satisfaction and comfort. Listen, the sand is still flowing, and I fell asleep wrapped in stars.
In the evening, I finally set foot on the grassland, covered in dust and sand, but full of joy. The sweat of a long journey, the tears of camping, the hardships of life and the despair of life are all buried in my first footprint on the grassland at the moment-grass woven and exquisite. I plucked every blade of grass I loved without scruple, filled my palm and drowned every crack in my fingers. Then, I picked them up. For the sake of my beloved grassland, I wiped my face with my beloved grass leaves, wiped away the dust on my face, erased the sadness hidden in my heart, and washed away the thick oil behind the pure and crystal-like life on the surface. Only in this way can I find my true self. Therefore, the smell of grass mixed with earth lingers in my heart. I run forward with fragrance and happiness, like a stone thrown into a green ocean. Of course, there are herds of cattle and sheep in the distance. In this green ocean, they move slowly like the shadow of white clouds floating in the sky. Isn't the galloping horse like the spray splashing in the ocean? There seems to be a yurt in the distance, and the smoke of cow dung rises. I am imagining, is there a girl sitting on horseback or lying on the grass, looking up at the sky that is about to be submerged by darkness with blurred eyes or catching the fleeting sun with a beautiful smile? The sun finally sank decisively, and in the fierce west wind, my hair was raised feebly-like mourning grass floating in the air. And me, can I fly? I stood there, silent as a black stone tablet, waiting.
As if to abolish my legs, as if to seize life, I finally came to Jiangnan. "Old vines faint crows, small bridges flow with water", "There are many rains during the Qingming Festival, and pedestrians on the road want to break their souls", "Weicheng is light in the rain, and the guest house is green and willow-colored" ... elegant and fragrant poems are flooding my mind. Is this Jiangnan? I walked on the path paved with real bluestone slabs, and I don't know how much soil of the storm dynasty was deposited between the cracks. How many centuries of wind and rain have witnessed the white spots on that slate? Black tiles with beautiful crescent moon hung low. Is it looking down at me? Or overlooking the faded time? The withered wooden windows on both sides have exquisite hollow patterns, but I seem to see a pair of empty eyes, a series of listless and insensitive faces, the tears of Jiangnan women and the worries of those depressed literati, all of which seem to be lost here. Suddenly want to go to Leifeng Tower. I don't know if there is any hair of the woman in white, or the hairpin she occasionally drops? Or go to the West Lake to visit the love witnessed by the clear water flowing for thousands of years? There are endless lanes with no beginning and no end, endless intertwined waterways, talented Jiangnan talents, tireless and sad love stories ... everything in Jiangnan seems to have been forgotten. Jiangnan is like a shuttle, jade shuttle. In my mind, it runs fast and smoothly. It is rampaging, chaotic, but orderly; Very casual, seemingly inconspicuous, but ingenious. Finally, it becomes clearer and more vivid. It turns out that Jiangnan is a smooth and delicate silk! It was raining in Mao Mao when I left, so I left with the misty landscape painting that Jiangnan gave me.
Wandering, I'm still going on ...
Wandering, my life is wandering. Even when I am too old to walk any more, I will slowly close my eyes and let my soul roam the sky on a deserted mountain or the top of Mount Everest. I will pursue and keep looking for the lost pearls in my life!
This article comes from Lele class.
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Comments by famous teachers
This essay is full of imagination, and the author imagines his wandering scene in it, describing it carefully and vividly. Rich in meaning and sincere in feelings. The article is thorough and meticulous. The language is beautiful, exquisite and infectious.