When I was a child, I lived under a tiled house. Whenever it rained, I could hear the sad and sad sound of rain. When I grow up, I live in a reinforced concrete forest without the sound of rain. It seems that life lacks a lot of aura, the softest and weakest things that can move people, and my heart is slowly deserting.
So I missed the sound of rain in the tiled house.
Rain is weak, the lightest thing in the world, and cannot knock the heavy reinforced concrete building. The tiled house is different. Raindrops tinkling on it and immediately make a pleasant sound. People in the hut have the blessing of being close to nature in the rain. When the rain falls rapidly, the sound becomes impassioned, like a hundred horses roaring in unison or ten thousand horses galloping. The rain slows down and the sound becomes weaker. It penetrates your heart gently, like the breeze in your ears in the warm spring. The tiles seem to be specially designed for the rain. They play their due diligence, and the hearts of those who listen to the rain are overflowing. Endless affection.
People like to sit quietly and listen to the rain when their hearts are full of nostalgia and sighing. The old man with lofty ideals has the ambition of "lying down at night listening to the wind and rain, and the iron horse glaciers coming to sleep"; the late beauty has the resentment of "the yellow-leafed tree in the rain, the white-headed man under the lamp"; the lovesick lover has the ambition of "the parasol tree is also drizzling, and at dusk ", bit by bit"; the sentimental poet has the reverie of "listening to the spring rain in the small building all night, selling apricot flowers in the deep alley in the Ming Dynasty".
Rain has become a messenger for people to modify their feelings and express their wishes.
In my spare time, I was fortunate enough to return to the place where I once listened to the rain. It happened to be a light rain that day, and I heard the familiar yet unfamiliar sound of rain again. In the mist, there was a strange mood in the sound of rain, the kind that we had not communicated with for a long time. It is thousands of miles away from me, showing me that it is unfamiliar to me, but I can feel the breath of its existence from the deepest part of my consciousness. I felt the joy of waking up from a dream and the sense of vicissitudes after being confused.
Oh, what I met in the sound of rain was actually my self that has been separated by time and space, and it was telling everything about my past. I was hesitant and asked myself: Who am I? Am I still the same person I was before?
There is a poem: "The young man is listening to the rain song upstairs, and the tent is dark with red candles. The mature man is listening to the rain in the boat, the river is wide and the clouds are low, and the broken geese are calling the west wind." Different life circumstances lead to different feelings about listening to the rain. However, listening to the rain is all about listening to the conversation of souls, listening to the rush of true love, and listening to the gurgling flow of time. What the sound of rain hits, apart from the echoes of the years, is also the unbearable regrets of the past and the melancholy that cannot be expressed. It seems that only in the gentle sound of rain on this tiled house can the soul breathe and life can continue.
The sound of rain is still ringing, like my real heartbeat...