When I first learned to walk, I always ran into the alley. Grandpa was afraid that I would fall, so he bent his back and chased me. When I saw my grandfather chasing me, I ran around more happily and smiled happily. Grandpa was really tired, so he squatted down and gasped and shouted, "Linlin, stop running. Grandpa can't catch up with you. Shall we go home and play? " Just then, I accidentally tripped over the steps in front of a family, flew far away and cried as soon as I landed. Grandpa suddenly panicked, ran over in three steps, picked me up from the ground, checked me back and forth to see if I was injured, and pretended to be angry and scolded me: "Look at you, the new clothes you just wore today broke a big hole." I'll never buy you new clothes again. I'll find you beggars' rags. "
I was even sadder when I heard it, and my crying grew louder and louder. Grandpa was busy trying to please me and said, "Grandpa is Doby. I will buy you more new clothes in the future. " Come on, we are the best in Linlin, don't cry. "I babbled," Grandpa ... hit the road, it ... bullies me. " Grandpa immediately knocked on the steps with his hand and then stepped on them. Seeing that the steps were punished, I smiled through tears.
I am old and I go to school. Grandpa rides a bike in the alley every day, greets his neighbors and drives me to and from school. I often fall asleep in my grandfather's car. My grandmother was afraid that I would catch cold, so she asked my grandfather to prepare a thick coat in the car every day and sleep with me as a quilt. Grandpa always rode slowly on the road in those years. On weekends, my friends and I played hide-and-seek in the alley. The police caught thieves, bungee jumped and sang the teacher's Protestant children's song: "The sun shines in the sky, flowers smile at me ..." The silvery laughter floated into the distance. ...
Now, I have left this familiar alley for three years. For three years, I only went back once on holidays. Grandparents are too old to run away from me anymore. Every time I face them, there is always a deep yearning and guilt in my heart. Every time I promised to go home, I stood up again and again; Every time I call for a week, I always forget. My grandparents always smiled and said to me, "Never mind, study hard and don't worry too much about us." I think we will never understand how bitter and helpless you are behind these words, and how you fought back the tears of missing again and again and laughed it off in front of us.
Composition of Rain Lane 2 The days of April are always covered with a hazy and ethereal veil by Lemon, filled with faint melancholy, and gradually covered with softness.
Walking alone in the rainy lane in April with an oil-paper umbrella. As soon as I stepped into the alley, the narrow space immediately cramped my sight, with red brick paved paths, stone walls, wooden half-open windows and black tiles on the roof. It's really a rainy lane in the south of the Yangtze River! Walking carefully, I am afraid that a little carelessness will upset the tranquility of this downtown dwelling. There are some puddles on the potholes, and the raindrops fall here, making ripples in a circle and two circles. It must be that the raindrops are lonely in the puddle. Gently stand on tiptoe and dance ballet on the water! In the corner, lovely dog tail grass and clusters of unknown yellow flowers are swaying in the wind. They tremble slightly, and the spirits that shake out the notes also rotate and jump with the raindrops on the April line spectrum. Looking up, the tiles on the roof are pouring like fish scales, and the water flows down the cracks in the tiles, forming a stream and slowly moving along the newly painted rusty iron drainage pipe. At this moment, a few tender birdsongs suddenly came from the bird's nest under the eaves. Looking intently, I saw a few birds sticking their heads out of the mud nest and looking curiously at the rain curtain hanging under the eaves. Even a few bold people simply craned their necks to peck off the bead curtain. Seeing the cute appearance, I couldn't help laughing. As a result, the chicken quickly retreated to the nest, but still sneaked out and nodded to spy on me as a strange visitor.
In early April, spring is always the most abundant. I wonder who planted the winter jasmine in the yard. The flower bloomed enthusiastically and gradually spread to the outside of the yard. As a result, the alleys also have the color of spring. The oblique rain accidentally brought down the petals, and the faint yellow dotted with moss in the corner was elegant. At this time, women in boudoir always go out to enjoy flowers with friends. So in the rainy lane in April, there are more scenes of women holding umbrellas: they always wear the most elegant silk shirts, beautiful hairpins, a little light makeup and walk lightly on the path. Their gait is always slow and even, and it will be crushed in April and tasted carefully.
In April, the twilight in the alley is always the warmest. As the night gradually descended into the alley, farmers wearing hemp fiber and hats came back from the fields. Unload the fatigue of the day, take a big bowl of tea in my wife's hand and taste the cotton cake steamed by my mother on a small fire. No matter how tired he is during the day, this time has already been warmed by orange candlelight. As a result, every household in the alley smells of glutinous rice, mixed with the joy of the family.
In the world of April, I walked alone in the rain lane with a dark oil-paper umbrella. Rain falls down the umbrella, blurring the sight ahead and April in the alley.
Composition in the rain lane 3 The rain lane is very long and there are many fireworks, so you should look back with the lights. The pavilion is short, the world of mortals is rolling, and I sigh again. -inscription
The green wind is slightly warm, and the thoughts of a season are gently called in late spring, with a sleeve of dark fragrance in the depths of memory. I use the colors of drizzle from stone bridge, snow from broken bridge, white wall tiles, fireworks lotus lanterns and silk dining room to make a faint ink landscape. Walking in the rain lane with an oil-paper umbrella, let the girl caressing the flute and sighing haunt you into a dream that you don't want to wake up for a thousand years.
You said that your dream stayed in the water town in the south of the Yangtze River, and your feelings lingered in the long rain lane that burned flowers and ruined jade; You said that you want to remain uncorrupted, travel around the world, see the clouds rolling around and cover up the years that passed away quietly alone; You said that you would like to hold me in your arms in the beautiful scenery and brew wine in the fleeting time; You said that the misty rain in the south of the Yangtze River washed away thousands of prosperity and lingering tenderness. You are willing to study ink at your desk, but you don't know how to drink spring water at your mouth.
Blowing out a melodious tune is my beautiful sadness. Leave a curtain of old dreams and listen to the rhythm of the rain. Into a wisp of smoke, telling the distant hope. Long years can be said to be fleeting haste. Holding an oil-paper umbrella, stepping on a slate covered with pale green moss, bathed in clear ancient style, the wind mixed with soft rain, bypassing my nose, brewing a few pear flowers. Fang Chunming Jing, hang silk. The small building listened to the spring rain all night, and the Jiangnan with blue bricks and tiles rendered beautiful scenery.
The chords that have been sung gently for several months, the morning that blooms in the blue and the time that is hidden in the ink, are days and years that I can't wear. Riding on the blue notes of the past, you know I have outlined my thoughts into a happy look. With a dream, clean the ink on the oiled paper umbrella and write down the proverbs. Who once held me in the misty rain and sighed: "a tree is white step by step, and an umbrella is open in the light rain." A dream of Huang Liang and a glass of wine, a white suit is made for life. " Who once said, meeting and knowing each other has been a beautiful sunshine for a lifetime. But I don't know, I want to lead you through the long rain lane and bend over to touch your handsome face. It's already empty, and people are far away from tears.
Yesterday, brocade was fleeting, colorful, and white horse and yellow shirt came to sleep. Unfolding the dark yellow scroll, the makeup of a depressed woman is reflected when studying ink painting. Attached a few words, we can see how much spoony waiting has been sent. A fine and clear shadow flows from the tip of the pen, taking over the inner ripples. Sitting in an empty city, I don't know if you will step into this rainy lane again. There are always some looming joys and sorrows and impermanence in the lost time. I am willing to accompany you with my smile for ten years. It's just that I still want you to hold me in the long rain lane. Time flies in the sound of mourning, recalling the past and becoming a beautiful flower on the other side of the earth.
Waiting for you to walk with me again, in the long and lonely rain lane. Will you come back when I grow to my waist? In this life, gentlemen are happy, Jiangnan guests are late, and red ropes are tied. Looking back suddenly, the cold rain wet my eyebrows, only to turn into an ocean. In the layers of drizzle, your figure appears and disappears. You see, this city, this alley, this mountain and this rain make me so worried. The drizzle is like smoke, my eyes are slightly drunk, and the green hills are farther away. Frost wind is tight, mottled gates, and deep vegetation in my hometown. Waiting is echoed on the slate, and it is we who take root and sprout our destiny.
Walking through, in the lonely rain lane full of tenderness.
Waiting for you, in the foggy Jiangnan water town.
Rivers running into the sea are spring for everyone, and the bright moon cannot be separated from others. Sunset alone, peony dyed red rope, Iraqis leaning against the door looking forward to your stepping home, the sound of residual flutes in the city ...-Postscript.
Everything is not true, just an empty dream. I met him in my dream. ...
Dense raindrops wet the stone roads in the alleys of the south of the Yangtze River. Not far away, the flags of restaurants are swaying in the wind and rain, and people come and go with colorful paper umbrellas, as if this is the paradise we yearn for. And he walked alone on this rainy day and passed me by. The height of the two oil-paper umbrellas was wrong, which made him helpless and sad for a long time.
He looked in a trance, with infinite loneliness and melancholy, as if there was always an inextricable connection in his heart. In him, I saw the poet's unique expectation and pursuit. He is looking forward to meeting another girl as sad as lilac. Dai Wangshu, a great poet and almost genius translator, is passing me by.
Dai Wangshu has a soft spot for European languages. He began to learn French at the age of 20, so he was destined to be close to literature all his life. At the age of 24, following the publication of Searching for Luo and Literature Workshop, he successfully published his first collection of poems, My Memory. One of the most famous poems, Rain Lane, is highly recommended by Mr. Ye Shengtao. He gave Dai Wangshu the title of "Poet in Rain Lane", and this poem instantly became a famous work.
I stopped to look at him. He didn't notice me, just bowed his head and walked away helplessly. It's still raining and the crowd is still moving. I turned around and walked silently behind him. In his hurried back, it is the hard work of running around for literature day and night, the sadness of today's political turmoil and the calmness of the vicissitudes of the world.
After that, he rushed to Europe and began to do a lot of translation work. His training in many universities has given him excellent translation skills in various languages. However, he didn't like going to school, but seized all the time to make a little contribution to literature. At that time, he translated the literary masterpieces of the Soviet Union, Belgium, Italy and other countries, and also carefully studied many novels by Spanish writers, and made gratifying achievements. Unexpectedly, just after he returned to China, War of Resistance against Japanese Aggression broke out. But on the contrary, he became more diligent. He participated in the editing work of various newspapers, including "Vertex" edited by Ai Qing. 194 1 At the end of the year, Dai Wangshu was unfortunately arrested and imprisoned.
In the dim light, I saw his life in his cell: gray walls, rusty iron bars, worn-out tables and chairs, wet beds, food that had gone bad long ago, and the familiar figure. Although his activities are strictly restricted, his interest in poetry has not diminished. Full of resentment, he wrote "Prison Wall" and "I Use Residual Palm", which inspired many patriotic anti-Japanese people and handsome literati at that time.
After the victory of the Anti-Japanese War, Dai Wangshu continued to engage in translation and compilation. However, just when he was brilliant, in the second year of the founding of New China 1950, he was defeated by overwork and left us forever. He left quietly and suddenly.
When I saw him in front of my eyes. Gradually, he disappeared into the vast sea of people and walked through this rainy alley. He may still be looking forward to the girl he once met, and he is still walking sadly in another rainy lane, pursuing that happy life. I watched him leave and stood for a long time.
The drizzle has been falling, just like the surging waves in my heart. The winding rain lane is long and lonely, bearing his complex. All this is really just a dream. They are better than all the miracles in the world.
Composition 5 in Rain Lane Rain falls like a needle in this deserted blue lane.
Qingshi Road, moss-covered corners, blue tiles, grey walls, and occasionally grass shaking in the rain.
Before long, this comfort was broken. An orange cat ran under the eaves of Qingwa store to hide from the rain. It's fluffy and sticky with water. It trembled slightly, and a pair of amber eyes looked around. Soon, his eyes narrowed slightly and he fell to the ground and curled up into a ball. The cat fell asleep in this alley, and the rain dripped in its ears.
The cat was awakened by the sound of the flute. At this time, its hair has dried up. It shook its head and walked away with small steps. A scholar came in with a blue robe and an umbrella in his hand. When he looked up, he was as delicate as a girl. She turned her head to find the source of the flute, shook her steps, and finally gently hummed a tune that was integrated with the flute. The scholar, who turned out to be a daughter, sang the flute melodiously with the rain, like spinning in the alley, one after another. The scholar walked away with an umbrella and humming.
The alley fell into silence again, and the rain was still falling. The room on the right suddenly heard the crisp voice of a woman singing opera. It turns out that this room is a theater and musicians are practicing their voices. Another male voice rang loudly, and the female voice paused a little. The two sang "Peony Pavilion" as if they had an appointment. When they sang together, the empty lane seemed more angry.
Maybe it's called Rain Lane. Otherwise, why does it always rain? Here comes the orange cat again. In the little girl's arms, the little girl came in with an umbrella in one hand and a cat in the other, and then squatted under the blue tile roof. The scholar came in a hurry, as if looking for something. The cat in the little girl's arms suddenly jumped up and jumped into the scholar's arms. The scholar let out a cry of surprise, smiled at the little girl, gave her a wallet, touched her head and left with the cat in her arms.
Then a stranger came in with a flute in his hand. Let's call him the piper. After looking around, he played the flute. After a while, a slim girl came out of the theater and the piper greeted her. I don't know where she took out a roll of paper, but the girl carefully took it and hid it in her sleeve. The bagpiper repeatedly told me something, and the girl nodded and left.
When the picture flashed, there was more moss on the wall. I don't know how long it took, but it was still raining, but gunshots came from time to time in the distance. The piper stumbled into the alley, seemingly injured, but there was no way out. Several Japanese rushed in with guns. The man closed his eyes in despair, the gun went off, but there was no pain. When he opened his eyes, a man fell down slowly. It's the girl in the theater. At this point, she had fallen in a pool of blood, and the piper closed her eyes again with tears in her eyes, waiting for her doomed fate. The gun rang again, but there was still no pain. He hurriedly opened his eyes and saw several Japanese lying on the ground, followed by a scholar and an adult little girl. The little girl held the piper, and the scholar picked up the actress girl and ran out quickly.
The picture flashed again, the blue alley turned red, the fire burned from the theater to the alley, the blazing flame raged mercilessly, and it rained again, like a silent complaint.
There is no rain lane, which was burned down in that cruel fire, but there will still be rain lanes. There are thousands of rain lanes in Qian Qian, and rain lanes are immortal.
Thinking about the course of life is actually chasing one dream after another. Chasing is like a rope with a dream tied to one end. At the other end of the rope, we pulled hard until we got closer and closer, and we felt more and more immersive pleasure. The light and heat of dreams are transmitted to us bit by bit.
I have been pulling this rope for many years, but when I was only one step away from my dream, I still looked at it confidently and used to looking at it-maybe it came too humble: it should be late and drowned in our expected eyes; It should be laid out slowly to moisten our desire for it ... In short, it should conquer all of us grandly, proudly and gently, not so close that we can touch it. ...
I have too many doubts about this. I don't know whether this is the joy of meeting for the first time or the touch of revisiting the old place. ...
I thought the rain lane was too familiar, but when I stood in front of it, I knew: I was wrong. Fantasy, after all, is not reality, but reality can also be beautiful enough to make fantasy surrender. My previously unmeasurable doubts have turned into unspeakable silence.
I couldn't help holding up an umbrella and walking in the alley, thinking ...
The alley is narrow, just right, deep and not depressing. The two walls are mottled blue-gray walls, tall and introverted. Indigo blue tiles are the skyline in the rain lane, striking and harmonious. The dignified and sturdy bluestone slabs are uneven and have different shapes, but they have completed the perfect connection between the walls because of their imperfections. All the colors recede here, all the lines stretch here and are interpreted peacefully here. They are thick and thin, deep and shallow.
Looking up, my vision is narrowed by the white wall, and I can no longer appreciate the shapes of clouds, only their moist colors, such as ink and wash. Through the space under the umbrella, I saw the rain curtain hanging slowly and carefully, which blurred the clear lines, made the rigid color blocks smart, and made all the rigidity soft and hazy. The rain fell on the depression of the bluestone slab, causing a small splash, and the excitement came into being, replacing the past. Rain drops, hitting the wet bluestone board, hitting the white wall tiles, echoing the footsteps of pedestrians-clearly audible, but more and more silent and distant. Looking up, the end of the alley is just ahead; But walking slowly, the end point is also constantly extending, wrapping it in infinite mystery and turning it into an infinite bluestone road, which is laid at your feet and mine.
Let it go, I just walked and walked absently, and kept walking and walking. ...
When I first saw the pupil of Yuxiang, all my doubts, impetuousness, longings, memories, fantasies … settled down. It doesn't allow you to jump on fire and your thoughts to spin around. It only makes you calm and forget-forget the pain, forget the right and wrong, forget the glory, and let you silently turn into meditation and blend into the newly created dream.
Rain lane is a secluded place in the hustle and bustle of the city, and it is a typhoon shelter in the vast sea of people.
Composition 7 in Rain Lane One Sunday at noon, it was sunny, and I followed my father to visit Dai Wangshu's former residence.
Turn around, go to Zhonghe Road, turn to Jiefang Road, look left when you are confused, and the street sign of "Big Tar Lane" comes into view. It turns out that the winding rain lane is hidden next to the bustling Jiefang Road!
You can see the house number of 1 1 from the alley. The house with the lake blue iron gate below is actually the former residence of Dai Wangshu, a poet in Yuxiang. Now it's just a grocery store warehouse, with a lot of flashy beverage boxes piled up at the door.
Suddenly, my fantasy of the rainy lane disappeared, and I stared at the same house number. Unwilling, I walked to the end of the alley alone, but I couldn't see the shadow of the alley when I walked. All I answered was the sound of fallen leaves being blown by the wind, and the flash of spots leaking from leaves. When I saw myself out of the alley, I had to turn around.
In my imagination, there should be white walls and black tiles on both sides of the rain lane. In front of the house, the original stone lion and gold-lettered red plaque are preserved. Little red lanterns hang on the eaves. A poet's poem is embedded in the wall on the side of the gate, and the words "The former residence of Dai Wangshu, a poet in Rain Lane" are written. Hutongkou is covered with green slates full of century's wind and frost. As usual, three or two old people sitting in the flowers are laughing at each other or four or five urchins are chasing each other. Today, outside the wall is a large construction site with heavy traffic. ...
But I still seem to think of that poem-the side in front of the white wall in Rain Lane. Under the monotonous color, I can feel the poet's tortuous and subtle heart; In the low tune, I saw a gloomy picture of a rain lane: at the end of the rain lane, a young man of 2 1 year old or 22 years old was "sad" and "hesitant" in a "long" and "lonely" rain lane, which was entirely because of a "girl like lilac". Lilacs hurt spring, but they fade easily in good times. "Bananas don't show lilac festival, and the spring breeze in the same direction knows each other." "The bluebird doesn't spread the news outside the cloud, and the lilacs are raining." Lilacs seem to be a symbol of beauty, nobility and sadness. 1927, the cooperation between the two countries broke down, and Dai Wangshu's ideal "lilac-like girl" was unattainable. In that dark and dreary real society, he can only cherish a good hope in loneliness ... the rain is cold, lonely and lonely. Dai Wangshu wrote this poem of rain with the feeling of rain.
It's been almost a century, and now China has risen. The vicissitudes of "Rain Lane" witnessed the growth of China: the eight-year anti-Japanese war, the founding of New China, the reform and opening up, and the launch of a spaceship ... The poet's "indifference, melancholy and melancholy" have been written off, and Lilac Girl has "floated" back. Even the "rain lane" is not like this.
Dai Zhai in front of us has changed beyond recognition, but the rain lane has replaced the poet to witness the changes of the world. I can't help fantasizing again. If Dai Wangshu could revisit his hometown, what kind of big pagoda lane would he write in this sunny autumn day, facing the old and new but vibrant alleys?
It seems that the poet expects the lilac-like fragrance to diffuse here and get stronger and stronger. ...
Composition of Rain Lane 8 Deep rain lane, white clothes, and Jiangnan tunes. On the small bridge in my hometown, I feel drunk. -inscription
The beauty of a rainy lane is often brewed in silence. Gu Lou's house, flute and stone steps in Tsing Yi often bring people old and brand-new memories.
Simple and elegant lilacs, quietly spreading, lingering with drizzle, lingered in the alley for a long time. That faint fragrance, quietly facing, really gives people endless relaxation and enjoyment. It's really a stroll through Qinfang Lane, and you'll be young in two or three years!
Some people say that long alleys are a kind of bondage. Why in the rainy season? In fact, maybe this sentence is not a rumor. It's old and outdated, which makes people feel stale, narrow and long, which makes people feel a little sad. So, why bother to be idle and be stupid? At this time, you might as well change your eyes, change your mood and look at the rainy lane.
Not everyone can understand the feeling of the rainy lane. Maybe it's because people think differently and travel differently.
I like classical literature. That ancient wooden statue, with its local flavor, local accent and sky, makes me crazy. When the slight breeze swept through the thick lights in the alley, I cried, hot and bitter, just like a long-lost confidant reunited in an instant.
With a relaxed mood, I quietly swept away a splendid dress and a wisp of breeze. Wandering alone, holding an oil-paper umbrella, different colors of light unconsciously reflected on the face, occasionally mixed with a few drops of cold rain beads.
The alley looks more beautiful after the rain. Put away the oil-paper umbrella, roll up your trousers, or walk barefoot on the wet and cold stone steps. At this moment, my thoughts can't help but turn to the time many years ago. It is still such a scenery, such a rainy lane, empty and lonely, long and long. I was still a child who didn't grow up at that time. When it's raining, I always like to run to Gu Lou in the rain lane, quietly leaning on the rooftop, listening carefully to the cuiming of the rain hitting the banana. "Tick-tock, tick-tock ..." Over and over again, I always feel stupid and think it is the most beautiful music in the world. After the rain, I walked barefoot on the cold stone steps. Sometimes I meet a hot set and go with my father. Naughty, I always like to put my little hand in my father's big hand and jump happily, so happy! When I met a shallow puddle in the alley, I stepped on it unscrupulously and splashed. Occasionally accidentally spilled on my father's white shirt, so those few drops of mud ideas are my favorite works! From time to time, I giggle, so sweet. ...
Sometimes, the long rainy lane is also my childhood paradise. Every time after the rain, the alley becomes more beautiful, with moss, dragonflies and blue sky. The wind gently sweeps across my face occasionally, mixed with coolness and fragrance. This is the assembly number of happiness! Barefoot, have fun. Sometimes when I am tired of playing, I pull up a few friends from the neighborhood and run and frolic in the alley until dusk falls and crows fall into the nest.
Time is like quicksand between fingers in the blink of an eye. In a blink of an eye, the alley has spent more than a dozen spring, summer, autumn and winter. Now, I have grown up and become childlike. But only the rainy lane is still long, and Gu Lou is still tall and strong, only a little more lonely and vicissitudes.
In this way, the long rain lane, quietly accompanied by ancient memories, has been extended to endless distances. ...