Crescent prose 1 doing nothing, walking alone on the path. The park is getting fresher and fresher after the rain. Looking up at the sky, a crescent moon has hung on the branches, and several white clouds have drifted away, which can't cover the light of Yuet Hua.
I like the moon. When I was a child, I always liked to sit in the courtyard dam or lie on the ground, watch the moon, count the stars and listen to adult stories in the moon palace.
Decades later, I still like it. There are many stories about her and many songs that belong to her.
I like the tenderness of the moon, water and light. Like her brilliance, like to practice, soft.
So, every night, I like to climb at the window and look at her.
Because I like it, I know how to cherish it.
Because you like it, you will be easily infatuated.
Because I like it, I don't want a trace of dust in the air to block my sight.
Because I like it, I won't play with that pool of clear water, and the waves blur her shadow. ......
In this way, I think quietly, walk slowly and watch quietly. Occasionally, leaves covered her, so I took a few steps for fear that she would hide. So, I looked at her, and she looked at me, and unconsciously climbed up the mountainside.
Perhaps, I should find a tree, sit down, lean quietly and clear my mind. Just in a corner of my memory, there are still some unforgettable things, like, I was thinking that the petals that were blown off by the wind, I could still smell the faint floral fragrance, and I was confused and intoxicated several times.
The moon slowly climbed higher and higher and slipped from my palm like jade. Moonlight falls on the treetops, patting the leaves gently, like a goddess playing music in the most primitive way. How artistic!
Night, so quiet, occasional pedestrians passing by, also failed to interrupt my thoughts.
The wind gently shook the branches and made a rustling sound, which touched my weak emotions.
On the moon, she blinked gently, as if she were whispering.
I, quietly listening, the voice from outer space.
At this moment, I quietly looked at the moonlight, which, like practice, dyed the mountains and the night sky dark green.
At this moment, no one knows who the hazy eyes are tired of. No one knows who the lonely figure is haggard for.
At this moment, the moonlight is falling, and there is no cold in the treetops and grass, only cool and warm.
At this moment, I was infected by such a situation, and tears almost flowed out of my eyes.
I haven't been in this mood for a long time.
It's been a long time since this happened.
Busy work and messy emotions all day have turned me into a careless person.
So, lazy, I sat down, casually lying on the bench, closing my eyes, thinking about the new moon in the sky, and slowly fell asleep.
Crescent Prose 2 Poetry Building is a small building built in the 1920s, which combines Chinese and western styles. Above the platform door hangs Mr. Jin Yong's calligraphy "The Former Residence of the Poet Xu Zhimo". Xu Zhimo, a crescent poet, is Kim Jong Il's cousin. He once spent a happy honeymoon here with Lu Xiaoman. Unfortunately, the old house of the Xu family has been demolished, and the preserved poetry building has become a memorial to Xu Zhimo's short and colorful life.
It seems to be a beautiful story under a beautiful cloud. Men come gently, walk gently, wave gently, and wave their sleeves gently, which is both instantaneous and eternal. He left the best stories to the earth in spring and April. If the story is about a married woman who goes after a teacher's unmarried daughter-in-law and ends up with another married woman, it will be a bloody drama. But the owners of the story are Xu Zhimo, Zhang Youyi, Lin and Lu Xiaoman, and their extraordinary makes the story extraordinary.
"You and I met in the dark sea, you have yours, I have my direction, you remember, and you'd better forget the shining light in this encounter." The Cambridge meeting kicked off April. That year, Xu Zhimo got married and had children at the age of 23, and Lin 17 was engaged to Liang Sicheng, but this did not affect their real first love. So, in the gentle waves of He Kanghe, he is willing to be a water plant, because he has a rainbow-like dream in the floating algae. In order to pursue his dream, Xu Zhimo filed for divorce with his wife Zhang Youyi, who accompanied him in England, saying that it was a request, but it was actually necessary. This is the first divorce case of western civilization in the history of China. Zhang Youyi showed a rare high spirit among women in the old society. She accepted the fact that her husband's heart had already escaped with pregnancy, and she was determined to become "one of the new women in the future".
After singing, it is parting, and vigorous love is waiting for Lin's rational silence. She finally chose Liang Sicheng, even though there was a vast sky belonging to Xu Zhimo in her heart. Later, Liang Sicheng once asked Lin, "I only ask this question once. Why did you choose me? " Lin said: "The answer is very long, and it will take a lifetime to answer." Many years later, Lin wrote a poem suspected of mourning Xu Zhimo, "You are an April day on earth": "You are a blooming tree, a swallow whispering among the beams, you are love, warmth and hope, you are an April day on earth!" The beautiful April in the world is full of spring flowers, which makes people linger, but there is more than April in the world. If April is left to Xu Zhimo, then the next eight months will belong to Liang Sicheng.
The best way to make up for a relationship is to start another relationship quickly. Xu Zhimo was lucky enough to meet his friend's wife, Lu Xiaoman, as if it were fate, perhaps a destination, and they immediately reveled in the dream wind. "I don't know the wind, which direction does it blow? I am in a dream, in the light wave of a dream. I don't know which direction the wind is blowing. I am in a dream, her tenderness, my intoxication. " They started their own marriage road without hesitation. The opposition of both families and the disapproval of teachers and friends failed to be the reason for them to retreat. They finally got married, with Xu Zhimo's teacher Liang Qichao as the witness. His unique wedding words expressed helplessness and love. The new villa in Shixia Town, Haining became the witness of their wedding.
After a short marriage, they came to Shanghai and began to live without relying on their parents as promised. However, although Xu Zhimo earned a lot of money from part-time jobs in three universities, she still couldn't make up for the huge expenses of Lu Xiaoman's long-term development, what's more, she was addicted to drugs. Love and life are actually two different things. Xu Zhimo traveled to Europe again and dreamed of coming to Cambridge. The scenery remains the same, and the beauty is not there. He had mixed feelings and wrote the most beautiful poem "Farewell to Cambridge" on the seagoing ship returning home. He waved his sleeves, but he didn't take away a cloud.
Xu Zhimo and Lu Xiaoman were married for five years, and after another fierce quarrel between husband and wife, Xu Zhimo decided to go to Peiping to attend Lin's lecture on China architecture. He went to the north by postal plane, and the plane crashed in the fog. Xu Zhimo died in an air crash at the age of 34.
Zhang Youyi has realized his ideal of changing himself and made great achievements in the fields of finance and industry. She abides by filial piety, respects her old teacher and explains the definition of love in her heart. She said: "Of all the women Xu Zhimo has met in my life, maybe I love him the most." After Xu Zhimo's death, Lu Xiaoman succeeded in detoxification and concentrated on sorting out Xu Zhimo's manuscripts. Her paintings and calligraphy works are becoming more and more perfect, and she was named the national "March 8th Red Flag Bearer" in her later years. Lin is remembered by more people because she is the designer of the national emblem and the deepening plan of the Monument to the People's Heroes.
The poem building only witnessed the legendary moment, and the poet was only a glimpse of surprise. As Tagore, a crescent poet, said: The sky leaves no trace, and the birds have already flown away.