Ya Tea Poetry: Look up at the blue sky, look down at the flowers blooming.
News from Yacha Culture Public Welfare Platform: Time is silent, the quiet branches are blooming desolately, Yacha is still the theme song of spring, the length is measured in centuries, walking barefoot in minutes and seconds, sinking into the pool. The tail fish hides in hibernation, everything is silent on a piece of plain white paper, the clouds fall over the western mountains, a roll of silence is quiet, thousands of miles of smoke waves are empty and far away, the rain comes unexpectedly, and falls all over the Leshan alleys, an eyebrow misses the time , the drizzle falls silently, brushing away the dust on the grass tips. Perhaps the brightness is not deep enough, which allows melancholy to take advantage of it. The unhappiness that comes easily, the yellow flowers are all thin on the sparse fence, the sound of the wind seems to hide in Guanshan, and the thin wings On the bed, the green is frozen thin by indifference, and the bright red that is about to bloom has become silent in the heart between the brows, forming a lilac that does not spread. People have been searching for him for thousands of times, but in the end, the eyebrows are slightly frowned, and the shadows of flowers are charming in the mirror, on the string. Through the dust and flowing water, even if the clouds are clever, it is difficult to fly together. The past is like coptis, so I pick up all the cold branches and refuse to live on it. The lonely sandbank is cold, the swamp near the abyss, the end of the mountain and the water, cocooning myself in the darkness, waiting for the light to come, waiting for the tea horse to cross On the ancient road, only old trees and dim crows can be seen, and there are no flowing water or houses at the small bridge. In a yellowed scroll, I rummaged through the past, thinning out the greed that could be reduced, and walking in the alleys of the four seasons. Pick up the scattered pieces, string them together into whispering cloud notes, and hide them in the bag of memory.
Looking up at the blue sky, looking down at the flowers blooming, introspecting in the silence, those curling shadows are like a pool of jade, the silence makes the grass, trees and wind stop inside the curtain, quietly looking at the flowers along the river, one by one. The lotus, its original meaning is dizzy in the heart of the river. The silence seems to have been baptized for centuries, drying the entanglement of the clouds into thin lotus root silk. The mood is mixed with the coldness, and the excitement cannot be lifted, and the rich colors are withered. Without makeup, there is only a faint corner of silence. In the passing wind, I always try to hold on to a bunch of warmth to provide for the lonely world. The dynasty has been sleeping, and it is afraid that it will not find the right warmth when it opens its eyes. There are always spring willows from Su Causeway blowing across the steps in front of the door. The Qingning House that climbs up the steps is locked in the silence of the deep courtyard. Antiquity is related to the passing youth. Those green-decorated cities are filled with prosperous and prosperous people. Withered, the years are advancing towards the evening in the sunset, and the blue shirt with low eyebrows can be seen alone leaning against the door. There are beans in the south that have been hidden in the snow, unable to sprout new branches. Wanliang and Kuangwei stay together, retreating to the half-open door. Who is it to make a clear path in the chaos? The dusk clears, and all things that have been washed are clear and transparent. , Void is a well, don’t expect others to draw water into the well to save you, only when energy is a constant source can you dig out the earth to save yourself.
Looking up at the blue sky, looking down at the blooming flowers, different people have different lives, and they each play songs of different tunes. Ordinary people always like quiet and peaceful nocturnes, because they like plain and simple They like a regular life. Great people always like to play impassioned marches because they yearn for a creative life and like new scenes to appear in their sights. Life is a song, a colorful song. A low and high song, an elusive song. The hardships in life are just the beating notes. The addition of these notes makes life more beautiful. My heart gradually calms down. Then I read each star as a station, reading from one to another, as if I was flying, flying farther and farther along the stars, trying my best to realize the distance and infinity of space, and what life is. It is a book, the most difficult book in the world. We can only read it bit by bit, but no one can fully understand it. As long as we can gain something after each experience, this is life, just like a song. In life, no matter which song or tune you choose, as long as you are satisfied, find it meaningful, and think it is worth it, then be brave enough to do it, open your mind to play, and go beyond the beating notes and do your best. Can play the most beautiful life.