July is a blazing fire, and July is a romantic love song. The following is a lyrical prose article about July. Welcome to read: Chapter 1: A lyrical prose article about July
July is the season of fire.
It is already July, but I have never felt the taste of summer, as well as the mountain dandelions half way up the mountain and the chirping of cicadas deep in the shade of the trees.
Does this summer seem a little more refreshing?
July is already a slight summer, but summer is not here and the taste is not there.
In meditation, the weeping willows flowing northward in the wind that night are still there. They were once like a beautiful scroll, deeply engraved in my heart, and they are still so unforgettable and missed after so many years.
I can’t remember how many times I have walked the same road, I can’t remember how many times I have listened to a song, I can’t remember how many times I have looked forward to a wish, but I still forget it. I am a forgetful person. It seems that life has not left me much, just a few scattered stories. Over the years, they are still the stories that have been broken. They are not pieced together, intermittent, and fragmented. At a certain moment, a thought, and a turn.
In the summer, my own shadow was projected onto the hot ground, and a little sweat fell into my tearful eyes. I had no time to wipe them, just looking forward to the next corner of the intersection, another twists and turns, and another twists and turns. The change of heart, the extravagant hope once again, the restless heart and the pleading eyes are frozen in the summer temperature, and the dried tears have long since transformed into a star and where it shines.
When a person is familiar with a place, you may be destined to be a passer-by there for many years. Without that kind of intertwining energy, you will never be able to go back even if you want to, and you will never be able to integrate in. Isolated in your own life, you can only watch from a distance, looking at yourself at that time, listening to the little tune floating behind you all the way in the morning, and the rushing footsteps when you return home at night. I have seen a place from a distance, from a simple flower scroll to the bustle of the market. In the same flower scroll, there are just two worlds and one mood.
Experienced, experienced countless times, spring, summer, autumn and winter?
Do you still remember those people walking by? I wonder where they have gone and what they are doing now What, the unfamiliar faces, the weak emotions, are all indifferent in a slight smile.
Do you still remember the rising full moon? It lay full on the treetops, bending the branches and leaves, filling memories and reflecting life.
Life is too hurried, but in fact it is not necessarily the case. It is accumulated day by day. Today is today, and tomorrow becomes tomorrow.
The old book still has the fallen petals from years ago, and the flavor of the pen and ink that I once remembered is still there, as clear as new, but time has passed, and it is no longer as bright as it used to be. The beauty, the pollen receded, and soaked into the lines of the old book. I took out the jar of old wine, tore the petals into pieces, drank it with the old wine, and swallowed the memories of the past.
July?
A colorful season.
A season of forgetfulness.
A season of nostalgia. Chapter 2: Entering July Lyrical Prose Article
In July, the sunlight spilling out between my fingers is so dazzling. I imagine that the soreness in my eyes is due to the heat of the sun, but I understand that it is meaningless. The soul resting everywhere trembles in the body.
I listened to the endless loop of songs, hummed nonsensical music, looked up at the sky with a smile, the busy traffic, and the people coming and going; I walked towards a certain place with heavy steps, I imagined whether there would be a gust of wind, whether it would rain, whether there would be a blank space, which would wipe away the dust, wash the soul, and carve the dream.
I open my eyes and look at this mortal world, but when I close my eyes, I create another beautiful world; I watch the rush of pedestrians, but I cannot see their joys and sorrows; I want to hear the sound of falling leaves coming in What was in my ears was a noisy noise; I was thinking about the smell that made my soul happy, but my nose was filled with filthy air.
I recalled the passage of time, I looked for the direction of life, I watched the baby fall to the ground, I watched the old man lying in the black grave, I met strange people one by one, and I Saying goodbye to familiar people, sometimes I smiled and kept silent unconsciously. Sometimes, I cried but raised the corners of my mouth. I imagined the beauty of the world, but unconsciously saw all kinds of things. Ugly, I hate this kind of world, but I'm glad I'm alive.
I thought I had no friends, but I could be comforted when I was sad; I hoped someone could give me warmth, but what I felt was the coldness of the world; I thought money couldn’t buy everything, but in the end I found out Money is more important than life.
I said I like the atmosphere of autumn, but I am greedy for the scenery of spring; I thought I could treat everything indifferently, but in the end I found that my love was so deep.
I looked at the people struggling in this world, and I was among them. I saw poverty that I could not imagine, but I could not imagine the life that the rich lived. I was silent towards those hardworking people, but felt disgusted with myself. The time journey with no place to rest, the aimless and wanton behavior, wasted the beauty of the years, and scratched the true meaning of the world.
Why can the windmill spin so happily in the wind, but why am I so miserable in life? Why is the power of dreams so insignificant? Why is the meaning of life so mean?
< p> I looked at the gradually blurred memories, and the unforgettable memories turned into dullness. I wanted to shout at the top of my lungs, but I was so silent that it hurt my heart.When I look at the scorching sunshine, why am I so sad inside? When I look at the happiness of others, I only feel envious.
I can't accuse the fairness of this world, I can't transcend this worldly morality. For everything, I can only blame myself, for not having courage or effort.
I laughed at myself. I seemed to be able to feel the fragile heartbeat, and the strong beating was jubilant.
I talk to myself to encourage myself, but who is healing alone in the corner, is it you or me?
I look at the story of an individual person, and I forget it after being moved. , and the story that belongs to me, where can I find flowers blooming?
It’s just that I am no longer as young as I used to be. I can only express my true feelings to words occasionally in this cold time. Chapter 3: Entering into July Lyrical Prose Article
The transition from spring to summer is so sudden. After a burst of heavy rain, the lush green trees come into view, a dark cloud drifts over, and the mountain flowers appear. The whole mountain is filled with beauty.
Time flies and flies again. It seemed that in just a blink of an eye, July had closed the door behind it. July comes quietly and leaves quietly, leaving only a beautiful memory. The curtain fell, and the story about July passed away, stamped with the seal of time and becoming a trace.
Sitting at the door of August, through the crack of July's door, looking back, recalling, caressing the vague figure, smelling the breath, counting the faded heart charm, the faint fragrance is still full Xiu, pick up the bits and pieces of the past?
July is a fire, a different kind of day, we have walked together.
After passing through July, what is floating in the field of vision is a beautiful scenery. In the Danshan Jinshui in July, the green moss is still dancing with time, and the ancient vines are still entwined with green memories. An occasional gust of wind blew gently through the treetops in July, and the sunlight scattered by the wind fell everywhere, dancing and mottled in my eyes. There are lush trees on both sides of the mountain road, with lush branches and leaves, and green trees provide shade. The road twists and turns, with thousands of twists and turns in the valleys, steep green mountains on both sides, and steep cliffs in the distance. On the way, you can see the weaving Jinjiang River on one side of the mountain and the flying Xianglong Lake on the other side, as well as all kinds of strange rocks, aquatic plants and marshes. Dotted at the bottom of the lake, the winding and slow-flowing waters have a self-contained style?
Keep walking forward, the environment is quiet, there is a faint fragrance of flowers, and colorful scenes appear in front of you. There is a mountain stream flowing in the gap, which is refreshing and refreshing. Unfortunately, the water is not enough, but it is enough to match the atmosphere of the mountain stream. The surrounding peaks stand quietly. In addition to the quiet and incessant chirping of cicadas and birds, you can occasionally hear the shouts of other tourists in the distance. Perhaps this is the joy of mountain climbing. The birds are singing in the quiet mountain, and you can release yourself at will and soothe. Physical and mental?
Walking on the tree-lined and quiet mountain trails is both fresh and familiar. Winding and twisting, exploring secrets, the unknown happiness is ignited by the friction of the natural and fresh air. It is true that the sky will never be barren and the earth will never grow old. People who say that the sky will never be barren and the earth will grow old just don’t know how many times in the past and present life it will take them to encounter this mountain and this stone. Once the sea was difficult to turn into water, but the stone in other mountains became calm and peaceful. This life has become a stone, how can one know it with one heart? My feelings are getting desolate, and I have no regrets in the strange road.
There are green grass and wild flowers on the roadside, there are cool breeze benches on the roadside, and the sunshine scatters like broken gold. It makes us relaxed and happy, half intoxicated by nature, and half retreating into the quiet and modern happiness of modern life. Place. To this day, that mountain, that water, that land, and that person are still lingering in my mind.
The mountain roads in the scenic area are relatively easy to walk. If you walk slowly and freely, you will not feel tired after walking, but you will be very happy.
Perhaps, whether people live happily in such a society, it really depends on whether they are surrounded by green mountains or surrounded by buildings? Are they shaded by green trees or filled with light? Is it a small town? Bridges and flowing water, or a modern city with bustling lights and feasting? I remember reading a sentence: When you walk among the mountains and rivers, with the fragrance of flowers filling your sleeves and the sound of the piano in your ears, there will be someone around you who will be shocked and benefited from nature with you. , turning the corner, what kind of people will you meet, what kind of stories will you encounter?
Only by walking into Danxia, ??use your steps to measure, use your steps to trek, and use your eyes to appreciate , use your soul to appreciate it, and then you will know that standing dignity, that unshakable existence, that connotation that cannot be explained in words, that magnificence that cannot be expressed in cameras, that majestic desolation that cannot be expressed in words?
Perhaps, July is a time travel, you can use your feet, eyes or mind. Naturally, July will not refuse to get lost, and the persistence of moving forward will eventually lead us to open up a new path and approach eternity.
Only after passing through July can we get used to seeing the spring breeze and autumn moon. Only after passing through July can we have the calmness to face the harvest.
July is a whirlwind, precious time, we have walked through it together.