The Evening Wind Blows the Clouds, A Quiet and Dusty Heart Prose 1500 Words
On the bank of the stream in the bamboo forest, with a pair of idle clouds, a thatched hut was built, saying: The Evening Wind Blows the Clouds Zhai. A quiet day's thoughts blow away the dust.
——Inscription
I don’t know when, a lotus flower bloomed in my heart, dreaming of being in the valley path, the bamboo forest and the stream, I can’t see where I came from, and I can’t see where I’m going. Next to the stone path, there is a simple thatched hut, not gorgeous, but warm. Just to invite passers-by and travelers of the years to stop and have a cup of simple tea, unload the trivial matters in the heart, brush away the dust, enjoy a moment of happiness, and then go on their way, completing the unfinished worldly relationship. .
The name of the hut is: Evening Wind Blowing Cloud House. It's not a teahouse or a wine shop, inviting passers-by to stop and have a rest; it's also not an ordinary hotel, where people can stay overnight to sleep. She just decorates the long autumn sky, a little green in the vast mountains and forests; the evening wind blows, and a touch of orange glow in the setting sun. Not stunning, not ostentatious. If you are not intentional, you will not be able to sense the comings and goings. She only exists quietly by the mountains and rivers, neither surprised nor surprised, neither sad nor happy.
In the thatched house, there are no elegant music or ancient scrolls with inkstones, only simple books that inquire about the years and accumulate time. A few old wooden tables and gray rattan chairs were scattered among them. Simple and natural, not arty or indifferent from the world. During the day, the sunlight can shine through the window panes, reflecting the quaint mottled interior of the house, and the traces of warm calligraphy and ink; at night, the sparse shadows outside the window and the pale moonlight, the cold green flowers spread a clear brilliance, caressing the vicissitudes of the passing years.
She lives in the secluded green bamboos, gurgling streams, and fallen leaves in the mountains and forests, blending into the scenery without competing for prosperity. Just waiting for passers-by and getting to know destined guests. If you are interested, you can stop here, rest your busy soul, drink tea and talk, and let the passing years pass by. Those who are tired can close their eyes and take a nap, temporarily forgetting the wanderings of the world; those who are lonely can chat with friends and share the past years; those who are quiet can sit alone and drink tea, thinking about the elegant affairs of the wind and moon; those who love literature can lightly smell The fragrance of ink meets the beauty of words. We are both wanderers from the end of the world. We meet each other in this life. We don’t need to know each other. We come and go as we please and stay as we please.
I would like to be the master of the study, sit quietly among the books, clean up in the morning, and sweep away the dust on the windows and chairs; Read it at night and wipe away the dust from your soul. Stay calm every day, leaning outside the window as the four seasons go by, changing cups and cups over time, watching different passers-by come and go in the morning and evening, and grow old in the countless dusk. For travelers who have come here, brew a cup of light tea and listen to the stories that have settled in the vicissitudes of life and swayed in the wind. Everything is just to find a reason for rest and convenience, not to gain worldly gold and silver, just to leave people's perception of time and share a period of immortality...
This It is my crazy wish to be happy all the time, perhaps in this life, and become a lotus that will never wither for the rest of my life. Perhaps, in my lifetime, she will not be able to come true, and I will not be able to fade away from the glitz of the world. From now on, I will stay away from the fireworks and find a secluded place, in a Zen forest, in a quiet and elegant home, and my heart will be in the countryside.
I am an ordinary person, with a shallow endowment of elegance. Living in the world of mortals, I can't let go of the longing in my heart, and I can't get away from the low eaves of the world. I go to and from the world every day, entangled in trivial matters, far away from Qiongshan, and not stained by the haze. To be a guest in Baiyun and to be a companion in Zhuxi can only be a wish in the heart, but it will never come true.
The deep tranquility exists deep in the soul, accompanying the watery years, rippling the microwaves of the blue lake, reflecting the brilliance of the bright moon. The evening breeze blows over Yunzhai, and it is deep in my heart, conveying the comfort of dusk and the ageless style. Find a piece of pure land on the Internet, build a space that belongs to words, belong to demureness, use words as tea, use words as warmth, use words to build a wall of dawn breeze and moon, green and black tiles. This pure land is filled with the fragrance of literature, simple and elegant, and sincerely invites tired passers-by and friends who love literature and cherish literature to temporarily fade away from the glitz and restore the innocence of age and original glory deep in the soul.
There is no need to ask if we know each other, no need to care about whether we know each other, and no need to worry about being far apart. Coming here is destiny, sharing is thinking, leaving ink is love. The present world is complicated, and the sun and the moon are rushing by. We are all travelers in life, running around in the trivial matters of the world, tiring our bodies and minds for the sake of vanity and life. Too much time, far away from the joy of innocence, too long a journey, forgetting the promise when we came. I have always felt that the years are too young, and people are always in a hurry. When the mountains are high and the roads are far away, and the clouds cover the sun, when I look back on the past, I find that the roads are mottled and the years are gone. The passing landscape has greened the journey behind us, but the road ahead is full of thorns.
Time has no end, but there is a destination in the end, whether it is a small bridge and flowing water, or a sailing boat, or a secluded place in the mountains and forests, or by the Maple Bamboo Lake, or in the wilderness of the Northern Desert, or living by the sea... Time is different, The objects are very different, but they all share a quiet, tranquil, pure and natural pure Zen mood. They all hope to encounter a misty rain like flowers, fragrant and beautiful, intoxicating in the most beautiful depths of the soul.
Just like my evening breeze blowing the clouds, it is not gorgeous, but only enjoys elegance. It records the footprints of life and waits for the years alone. The heart dwells in it, building fences and dotting chrysanthemums, beautiful plum orchids, and green bamboos filling the windows. In spring, the wind blows, and in autumn, it rains. Just to meet the destined passers-by in the most beautiful years, with a simple paragraph of text, a greeting, a smile, and sincerely be the confidant of words.
Written on February 27, 2014