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I can whistle.
It was my mother who taught me to whistle. I was about six or seven years old then.
At that time, I was lying in a hospital bed all day with a long cut on my back. I can't move my legs, my arms and my neck. If I don't exercise carefully, it will cause severe pain in my back wound. I lay for a long time, I lay helpless, I lay alone all day. I don't know what is sadder than lying in this pain. I don't know how long I will lie down or what my happiness is. My eyes turned out of the window again and again, and I didn't have any toys anymore. I only have a few tattered picture books, an old box of building blocks and a silly doll. My only happiness is listening to birds singing. They are very lively.
One day I said to my mother, how I want to sing like a bird!
Mom said I would teach you to whistle so that you could sing with the birds. Mom said, you pursed your lips, gently, gently blowing, a little wind blowing.
So I gently blew, gently blew, a thin wind pulled out from my lips, and a nice voice came out, long and soft, magical and ethereal. I played over and over again, starting with a note, and then I learned to play from bass to treble. Later, I learned the singing and singing of birds. I can also play songs that I can sing. So I found happiness in loneliness. In my whistle, the leaves of the small trees outside the window are green and yellow. In my whisper, leaves fall and the snow outside the window covers the earth.
Spring has come, and I am warm and lively in my girlhood. In the green fields of northwest Shandong, I whistle again, and my whistle floats from here to there with an arc. The boys in the village opened their eyes in surprise when they heard me whistling. I whistled happily and called the big white dog. As soon as it hears my whistle, it will fly to me from the village like a little white horse. Seeing the great white dog shaking his head affectionately beside me, the children's faces showed admiration. I say we whistle together. So it looks like a flock of larks flew over the field. ...
The sun is about to set, and we are still wandering in the misty golden sunset. The children pushed me to the river, and I played Soviet songs:
By the river in the field,
Red berries are in full bloom
There is a teenager I love very much, but I can't tell him.
Full of confidence, I can't say it.
ah ...
In the evening breeze, I burst into tears. I think whistling is different from singing. It gives people more imagination. Whistling is different from singing. No matter what song, whistling brings out a faint sadness and dismay. I never cry when I sing, but I cry more than once when I whistle. Maybe I like songs that are stained with sadness.
The wooden wheelchair ran across the rugged and muddy dirt road in the country, and I bid farewell to my girlhood.
One day, I was lying in the hospital bed again, and the birds outside the window had already gone. There are no green branches outside the ward window here, but the sky is still blue sky and white clouds. Suddenly I really want to whistle and blow a song that floats away with the wind. I used to be lonely, always hoping to get sick by whistling. Unconsciously, over 30 years have passed. What a long song this is.
I really want to whistle and play that long and ethereal song. ...