1, Hao Han bird a bird fell into endless singing. Fate has given it the sound of singing and the heart to forget everything for singing. From the spring of its life, from the new green that gives people infinite fantasy to the autumn of its life. The grass is dead and the green branches are dead. At this time, the homeless will wander forever. A bird is singing. On the surface, its song is no different from other birds. Like all other creatures (including humans) with innate survival instinct, it sings for the survival instinct. I want to make a nest, I want to make a nest. On the surface, this is a visionary who puts words into action and a romantic realist. But when winter comes, the cold reality makes its feathers lose their tenderness. This singer, who has never built a real nest in his life, shocked a poet's heart with his sad singing.
This poet may be Poe, Tao Yuanming, or any poet who has been poor all his life. Like this Hao Han bird, he devoted his whole life to difficult singing. Life is more difficult for him. On the contrary, poetry is so simple that he is willing to replace real life with singing. Singing is his life. He also felt the cold coming, and a realistic nest was so important and essential. If he doesn't need warmth, he can warm his wife and children. They need it more. But the poet feels lifelong regret. He can only sing: I want to be a nest, I want to be a nest. The nest blooms and bears fruit on the tree of the mind!
In fact, such people always have winter in their hearts.
In fact, such people always have spring in their hearts.
Such people are young and mature, and always have a childlike innocence.
In his life, time and space are inseparable. He lives in his youth, lonely and complacent, miserable and happy, and wants nothing more. The world has nothing to do with it. But he obviously cares about the whole world.
I want to make a nest, I want to make a nest. Because how many people in the world died of poverty. It is they that remind the poet of the cold in winter. How many human happiness is locked in a small bird's nest, giving him the comfort of singing. He also believes that those homeless people can get some comfort from his singing.
This is all about the fable Hao Han Bird. The bird that sang in winter finally died in the cold winter. This ending can be imagined. Not so harsh as to drag out an ignoble existence, hiding under the eaves of others and panting; Will not occupy the nest, will not deprive others of the fruits of labor. It died of its laziness, but in fact it died of its ideal.
I want to be a nest, I want to be a nest, and the poet's soul is singing.
The sad swallow saw a swallow spreading its wings.
Expose a white body
Fly in tears
This summer, I saw the sadness of a swallow. The female swallow almost lost the courage to live. She stopped at the edge of another wall, or on a beam. Mourning heads hung over her shoulders. Her partner, a strong husband, can't give her better comfort. She even refused to comfort, screamed and bit off her more painful lover, and stood with her back to him.
This scene deeply infected me. This kind of grief is almost stronger than human tragedy. I couldn't bear it. It was my fault that caused this tragedy: I put the bucket under the nest and I gave the cat steps. It tore up the nest built on the wall and ate the birds waiting to be fed. Those poor birds haven't got all their feathers yet. How many times have I watched them open their mouths and shouted happily to welcome their parents who came from afar to hunt; How many times, this Shuang Yanzi was immersed in the joy of feeding and gave all his love.
They lived in this poor family for ten years. Bring happiness and joy. Come back every spring and go south in winter. Groups of children flew out of this humble nest and never came back to see their mother. This Shuang Yanzi will spend the rest of his life here. This is their home, the destination of their lives.
Now, I don't know if they will come back next spring after flying this winter. When they come back, where will they rest and where will their new children spend their weak lives?
More than a month has passed, and they have slowly recovered from the initial malaise, but they still can't get rid of endless melancholy until today. At first, I was waiting for them to rebuild their love nest. Like other animals, I have never been ruled by bad luck. But today, they have preserved this broken nest intact. Look at it sadly every day, motionless. I finally understand something. My heart aches violently. I really don't know what to do for them. Except regret and prayer.
I can't punish a cat. There is no hatred in this Shuang Yanzi's eyes. Only sadness, endless sadness. They still go out to look for food and then come back. They are mourning for their children. Because they have no future of their own. From now on, where is happiness?
Oh, cicada is waiting, not numb.
In the dark, it escaped the chatter, lost all feelings and dozed off. At first, I didn't know why I was resting in this cold tree. As soon as the cold wind blows, it feels the footsteps of death coming from a distance, and then it wakes up and waits.
Stripped off layer by layer, like cicadas for centuries. In every new season, there will be several nights sitting here quietly. As for the dark past and the coming of light, I don't know how its story will be interpreted. For it, the two extremes of life are life and death. This is the essence of life. "I only live for the essence", others are phenomena, which can be tolerated, changed and disappeared. What about death? It cannot be denied that "Zeng Sheng" is the essence of death in terms of existence.
This is another sense of relief. It feels the air echoing in the heart and lungs. Without weight, I feel dizzy. Only at this time, it is silent. Only then did it understand why it sang all its life.
4. Ants are flying. At this moment, ants have lost their leisure. It escaped from the sudden man-made disaster and delivered terrible news. But the memory of the disaster is short-lived. Soon, they gathered around the catch again and were carried with very low efficiency. The direction is roughly correct. Because although the prey is surrounded by ants pulling in all directions, the ants who stick to the right direction are still in the majority. The situation can always remain clear. But I still can't forget their vigilance when they are harassed. They run so fast in the field of vision that it is hard to think that they are still ants. The speed of the arrow is not exaggerated at all.
Five years ago in the summer, I found a red ant crawling on the ground. It touched the heart hurt by love. I wrote the only poem that summer; & gt。 I held back my tears and expressed my feelings objectively. Compare that small and beautiful animal to a small wound in love. This is the most tolerant. That is the only red ant I have ever seen. It must be the little princess ant that was blown to an isolated place by a gust of wind. It looks for nothing; It listens but doesn't listen. The infinite call in the heart must be suppressed. It's so small that we can't help being moved by it, holding our breath, afraid that my breath will blow it out of my sight. But a little carelessness still disappeared from my sight. From then on, all I saw was a large piece of dust. That is undoubtedly the desert of ants. I don't know the final fate of this beautiful red ant, but in the future, I will pay special attention to ants and give them enthusiasm.
The world of ants is the smallest. It is busy, unknown, well-organized, United and cooperative. The individual is conscientious, diligent, selfless and dedicated to the public. Because they realized their weakness and became humble. I don't know whether to lament or rejoice at the insignificance of ants. Who pays more attention to it? It has its own way, its own thoughts and its own life. I don't want Venda, I want peace. It's like I'm running around all day for a living. Think about ourselves, besides being busy for a living, what is really worth being busy? The life of ants can be described as the most instinctive life. It can get the greatest forgiveness from this.
The power of ants is also amazing. The source of this power can only lie in its survival needs. It has a path to the nest of life. Although it is the easiest to get lost, I have never heard that an ant has not found a home. In this way, it is so far away, constantly looking on the earth, looking for no direction. You can always find food. Its search is more enjoyable than our walk. Even if the strong wind prevents it from returning to its hometown, it can travel freely in the air and keep its original life in a foreign land. It is still a beautiful little ant.
Crawling in the depths of my soul
Smaller red ants
Now climb through the window
Stop on the ivy.
I wrote this in a poem five years ago. Now I see ants flying, and I have a shameful pity. God no longer cares about human beings. What reason and leisure do I have to watch an ant fly around in the face of disaster? The last sentence of the poem about ants goes like this: a leaf makes it spend its life.
Please give me and ants a leaf.
5. Birds in the birdcage The birds in the birdcage just curl up and stop spreading their wings when facing the freedom of coming back. It thought, I can't fly anymore. Or, the distant sky is too empty, and I am afraid of getting lost in nothingness. In other words, I am attached to this birdcage. After all, it is a good place to live. Ah, there are too many birds in the forest, but family planning has not been realized yet. Their nests become like beehives.
The bird curled up, imagining poor freedom and getting a vague pleasure from it. I can go out or not. Isn't this freedom enjoyed by birds? Why do I have to fly to sweat? Just because I am a bird? Now I can be a bird or a pig. How about being You Zhu? Can a bird guess the happiness of a pig?
It curled up in the cage and began to bark indulgently. It says that barking is my first instinct. It's my substance. Just like human sexuality. Flying is just to find food, and singing is the source of happiness. I shout for my freedom, I celebrate my new life, and I make my throat hoarse. My waist is starting to hurt.
So it cried and hung in the corner of the cage, dying and glassy-eyed. Suddenly it saw the blue sky, and it saw the blue sky from the corner of its eye. The vast sky is spotless and seems to be waiting for birds to fly. A bird's flight is so light and agile. A bird's body dances in the air, and its song is in harmony with the wind through the forest. Its feathers occasionally leave a light blow to the earth, and everything feels a constant trembling. A bird in the cage thought so and fell asleep again.
It lies in bed, not to dream, but to wait.