A rain snow that warms the whole country has never turned into a cold, hard and brilliant snowflake. Well-informed people think he is monotonous. Does he feel unhappy? The snow in Jiangnan is very beautiful. That's the news of youth that is still looming, and it's the skin of a very strong virgin. In the snowfield, there are blood-red camellias, single-petal plum blossoms with dark green in white and wintersweet with dark yellow chin; There are cool green weeds under the snow. Butterflies really don't exist; I really can't remember whether bees come to collect honey from camellia and plum blossoms. But my eyes seem to see flowers blooming in the snow in winter, and many bees are busy flying. I can hear their buzzing sound.
Children's hands, red with cold, are like purple bud ginger, and seven or eight of them get together to make snow arhats. Because it was unsuccessful, whose father also came to help. Lohan is much taller than a child. Although it is only a pile with a small top and a big bottom, it is still unclear whether it is a gourd or a arhat. But it is very white and bright, and the whole land is bright with its own water. The children made his eyes with longan seeds and stole rouge from his mother's powder and put it on his lips. This time it's really a big arhat. He just sat in the snow with burning eyes and red lips.
The next day, several children came to see him and asked him. By the way, he clapped his hands, nodded and smiled. But he finally sat alone. Sunny days came to soothe his skin again, and cold nights turned him into opaque crystals. The continuous sunny days made him wonder what it was, and the rouge on his mouth gradually faded.
However, after the northern snowflake flies, it will always be the same as powder and sand. They will never stick together and scatter on the house, the ground and the hay. That's it. The snow on the house has already been digested because the fire in the house is warm. In addition, on a sunny day, a whirlwind suddenly came. It flew vigorously and gave off dazzling light in the sun, such as fog with flames, which rose and filled the space, making the space spin and twinkle.
In the boundless wilderness, under the cold sky, the shining soul of rain is spinning and rising. ...
Yes, it is lonely snow, dead rain and the soul of rain.
1925 1 month 18.
Erxue Li Bai's words: "Yan Huada is like a seat." This is not reliable, and the poet exaggerates it, just like "three thousands of feet white hairs" and so on. According to scientific reports, the formation of snowflakes depends on the local temperature at that time, and the maximum diameter is three to four hours. As big as a seat, can't a snowflake cover the whole person? Snow, the bigger the snow, the better, as long as it's not a disaster. Rain and snow are falling like salt in the air, flying like catkins and falling slowly. It's really interesting. No one doesn't like it. Some people like rain, some people suffer from it, and I have never heard of anyone who hates snow. Even in places of ice and snow, Eskimos will build dome-shaped huts with snow blocks, which is very warm to live in.
A snowflake contains countless crystals, and a crystal has many faces, each of which reflects light, so the snow is very white. When I was a child, I heard that there was a story about cooking snow and talking about tea. I was curious for a moment, so I scooped up the newly fallen snow in the yard, put it in a bottle and melted it into water. After seven steps, I made Dahongpao in a small Yixing pot, poured it into a small handless den, sipped it carefully, and raised my toast and sniffed it three or two times-I didn't feel it at all. I'll check the remaining snow water again, as if I want to hit it with alum! Air pollution and snow can't keep it clean. One year, I was on duty on Miluo Road. On the way, the car broke down, it was snowing, and I was hungry. I bought food in a hut on the side of the road, and the master made me noodles. I am ecstatic. But there was no water for cooking noodles, so the owner took the washbasin, scooped up the snow on the roadside and put it under the messy snow water. Although it's delicious when you're hungry, such clear soup noodles are not very delicious. Since then, I think snow can only be seen from a distance, not played. Su Wu's desire for blankets and snow are two different things.
The loveliness of snow is that it covers the earth, everything, and there is no difference. Sleeping under a quilt at night in winter, I feel chilly, curled up and afraid to move. When I open my eyes in the morning, there is bright light shining in the gap between the window lattice curtains. I got up and looked out of the window. Ah! A vast expanse of whiteness is a silver world. Bamboo branches and pine leaves are covered with piles of snow, and branches and old trees are inlaid with silver edges. Zhumen and Penghu are also affected by it, and there is no difference between carved jade fences and urns and mulberry trees. The potholes on the ground, the dead branches and stalks on the ice, and the leftovers on the road were all covered by a crane left by God. Snow is so selfless, decorated with beautiful things, but also covered up all the filth, although it can not be covered up for too long.
The biggest advantage of snow is in agriculture. We depend on the sky for food. Since ancient times, we have looked at the face of heaven. "The sky is the same as the clouds, and the rain and snow are the same." ..... that's enough, and all aspects are pregnant with me. As the saying goes, "Xue Rui is in good weather", that is to say, there will be a lot of snow this winter and next spring. There is no need for "heavy snow, as for the bull's-eye", the full scale is enough. Others say that snow should be suitable for wheat, because locusts leave their seeds on the ground. When the snow is one foot deep, they drill down to ten feet underground, and even the pests are cured. I had a similar experience myself. There are two pillars of peony in front of the hall and a bed of Hosta under the eaves of the study. Several heavy snows swept in winter and piled up on the flower beds, which not only kept the flower roots warm, but also melted into natural irrigation when they came to Chun Xue. When the earth returned to the Soviet Union, the new seedlings were furious, grew strong and blossomed. I think this is more meaningful than making a snowman.
It is said that a thin man once sang a poem about snow: "The yellow dog is white and the white dog is swollen. If you go out to drink, the world will be unified. " As the saying goes, "the official sings poetry well", not to mention that the hero will be complacent when he is in love? This poem is not without originality, but is ridiculously thick, which is probably related to birth temperament. According to legend, the French emperor Louis XIV wrote a poem with three rhymes, which made him complacent. He asked Bovalou, a poet critic, for advice. Bovalou said, "Your Majesty can do anything. Your majesty tried to write a crooked poem, and he succeeded. " Our hero's Ode to Snow should also be regarded as an excellent crooked poem.
Three snows. Beautiful snowflakes are flying. I haven't seen you for three years.
Last year in Fujian, it seemed a little later than now, and I also saw snow. But that's snow on the top of the mountain in the distance, not flying snowflakes. On the plain, it just happened to spill a few with the rain and didn't fall to the ground. Its color is gray, not white; Its weight is like raindrops, and it can't fly. As soon as it landed, it immediately melted into water, jumping or sighing without trace, just like when it snowed in Jiangsu and Zhejiang. This kind of snow, the old Fujian people I met for the first time in 40 years, can certainly feel special significance and talk about it with relish, but in my opinion, it is always boring. It snows in Fujian, but I don't think so.
I like the flying snowflakes in Shanghai. It is "snow-white" white, as beautiful as a flower. It seems to be lighter than air, not falling from the air, but being rolled up from the ground by the air. However, it is like a living creature, like a group of gnats (ruì) at dusk in summer, like bees in the honey-picking period in spring. It is busy flying, up or down, fast or slow, or sticking to people, or squeezing into the cracks, and seems to have its own will and purpose. It is silent. But when it flies, we seem to hear the cries and footsteps of millions of people, the rough sea, the roar of the forest, and sometimes it seems to hear the whispers of children, the quiet evening prayers in the chapel, the cheerful birds singing in the garden ... It brings gloom and cold. But in its flying posture, we saw a charitable mother, a lively child, smiling flowers, warm sun, silent sunset ... it didn't breathe. But when it jumped on our faces, we seemed to smell the fresh air in the wilderness, the elegant orchids in the valley, the rich roses in the garden, and the faint jasmine ... During the day, it made thousands of beautiful gestures; At night, it gives off silver light, shines on our pedestrians, and draws all kinds of flowers and trees on our glass windows, oblique, straight, curved and upside down. And the river, the clouds in the sky …
Siyang Guanxue In ancient China, there was once a scholar who didn't have a full view on it. The prominence of civil servants lies in officialdom, not in literature. As a scholar, they are not satisfied in officialdom. However, things are strange. When the Hubei official's belt has long been mired in mud, a poem occasionally crossed by a bamboo pen can engrave mountains and rivers and carve people's hearts, and never wander.
I once had the opportunity to look up at Bai Di City in the boat on the river at dusk, climb the Yellow Crane Tower in the thick autumn frost, and touch Hanshan Temple in winter nights. There are many people around me, and almost all of them are filled with poems that don't need to be quoted. People come to look for scenery as well as poetry. They can recite these poems when they are young. The children's imagination is sincere and realistic. So these cities, these buildings, these temples are all built in their own hearts. When they are old, when they just realize that their feet are enough, they are also burdened with heavy debts and eagerly look forward to visiting the poetic realm. For childhood, for history, for many unspeakable reasons. Sometimes, this longing is like looking for the lost hometown and visiting the lost relatives.
The magic of literati can turn such a small corner of the world into a hometown in everyone's heart. What magic is hidden in their faded blue shirts?
Today, I went to Yangguan to watch Wang Wei's Song of Besieged City. Before I left, I asked the old man in the county where I lived. The answer is: "It's a long way to go in Xiu Yuan. There's nothing to see, but some literati have worked hard to find it." The old man looked up at the sky and said, "It will snow for a while. Don't suffer this. " I bowed to him and turned and got into the snow.
Once out of the small county, it is desert. There is nothing but Snow White, not even a wrinkle can be found. When traveling in other places, always find yourself a goal at each road section, staring at a tree and then staring at a stone. Here, I can't see a target with my eyes open, even a dead leaf and a black spot. So, I have to look up at the sky. I have never seen such a complete sky, and it has not been swallowed up at all. The edges are quite scattered and the earth is tightly covered. There is a place where genius is called heaven. On such a day, the earth is called the earth. Walking alone in such a world, the dwarf becomes a giant. Walking alone in such a world, the giant has become a dwarf.
As a result, it cleared up, the wind stopped and the sun cleared up. I didn't expect the snow in the desert to melt so quickly. Just for an instant, the ground was full of sand, but there were no wet marks. A few wisps of smoke gradually floated out on the horizon, stopped moving and deepened. I wondered for a long time before I found that it was a ridge that had just melted snow.
The bumps on the ground have become a shocking exposition, and there can only be one understanding: they are tombs of distant times.
It's far from the county seat, and it's unlikely to be the burial place of city people. These tombs were eroded by the wind and snow, and collapsed with age, thin and depressed. Obviously, no one has ever offered sacrifices to sweep them away. Why are there so many and arranged so closely? There can only be one understanding: this is an ancient battlefield.
I walked blankly in the endless grave, and Eliot's The Waste Land came to my mind. This is the wasteland of China history: like the horseshoe of rain, like the cry of thunder, like the blood of notes. The loving mother in the Central Plains has white hair, the spring boudoir in the south of the Yangtze River is far away, and the children in Hunan cry at night. Farewell to my hometown in Liu Yin, the general glared at me and hunted military flags in the north wind. With a puff of smoke, another puff of smoke drifted away. I believe that the deceased, such as husband, are facing the enemy lines in northern Shuobei; I believe that they really want to look back at the last minute and take a look at the familiar land. As a result, they twisted down and became sand piles.
I wonder if this starry sand pile has been exchanged by historians for half a line of ink? Historians turned over the documents page by page, so the land was buried layer by layer. A 25-year-old mountain, written on this wasteland, is quite glorious, because it is, after all, a remote area of the kingdoms of past dynasties and has long been responsible for defending the territory of China. So these sand piles are more comfortable to stand on, and these pages can rattle. Just like the cold and monotonous land, the historical proposition of the northwest frontier is relatively simple. In the Central Plains, it is different. The mountains are heavy and the waters are complex. The maze of years will make the clearest mind swell and groggy, and the drums in the morning and evening are always so secretive and surly. There, there is no such casual sand pile, everything is stuffy in the beautiful scenery, and countless ghosts who died for no reason can only dive deep into the ground in grief and regret. Unlike here, I can show a dry history and let me touch it with the pace of the 20th century.
There are shadows in the distance. Get there quickly, there is water under the tree and sand has high and low slopes. Climbing a slope, I suddenly looked up and saw a bare mound on the mountain not far away. My intuition is that this is a sunshine pass.
More and more trees and more houses began to appear. That's right, where the important pass is, where the military forces are stationed, these are indispensable. Turn a few corners, then go straight to a sand slope, climb to the bottom of the mound, look around, there is a monument nearby, engraved with the words "Yangguan Ancient Site".
This is a commanding height overlooking all fields. The northwest wind thundered in Wan Li and rushed to my face. I stumbled for a few steps before I stopped. My feet stopped, but I clearly heard the chattering of my teeth. My nose must be red with cold soon. Oh, take a breath of hot air into your palm, cover your ears and jump a few times before you settle down and open your eyes. The snow here doesn't melt, of course not. There is no trace of the so-called ancient site, only the nearby beacon tower is still there, and this is the mound just seen below. Most of the mounds have collapsed, and you can see layers of sediment, layers of reeds and reeds flying out, trembling in the cold wind after thousands of years. At present, it is a mountain in the northwest, all covered with snow, layered and reaching the sky. Anyone standing here will feel that he is standing on a rock by the sea. Those mountains are frozen oceans and waves.
Wang Wei is really gentle to the extreme. For such a Yangguan, the bottom of his pen still does not show the color of fierce terror, but writes in a lingering and elegant way: "I advise you to make more wine, and there is no reason to go out to Yangguan in the west." He glanced at the green willow color outside the window of the Acropolis Guest House, looked at his friend's packed bags, and smiled and raised the hip flask. Have another drink, and you'll never find an old friend who can talk about wine like this outside the sun. This cup of wine, friends must not refuse, drink it off.
This is the demeanor of the Tang Dynasty. Most of them will not cry and lament, but will discourage them. Their vision is far away and their life path is wide. Parting is frequent and the steps are open. This style, in Li Bai, Gao Shi, Cen Can there, glow more heroic. Among the ancient statues in the north and south, the statues of the Tang people can be recognized at a glance, with such strong bodies, calm eyes and confident spirit. When you see Mona Lisa's smile in Europe, you can immediately feel that this serene self-confidence belongs only to those artists who really wake up from the nightmare of the Middle Ages and are quite sure of their future path. The smile in the statue of the Tang Dynasty will only be more calm and serene. In Europe, these artists have been making a fuss for a long time, stubbornly trying to convey their smiles into the soul of history. Anyone can figure out how many years after the Tang Dynasty. But in the Tang Dynasty, it did not extend the confidence of artists for a long time. The snowstorm in Yangguan became more and more melancholy.
Wang Wei's poems and paintings are unique. Lessing and other western philosophers have repeatedly discussed the boundaries between poetry and painting, and his feet can keep up. However, the palace in Chang 'an only opened a narrow side door for artists, allowing them to bend down as humble attendants to create a little entertainment. The old man in history stood in awe and turned away, trembling to return to the genealogy of the Three Emperors and Five Emperors. Here, there is no need for art to make a big fight, and there is no need to have too deep sustenance for beauty.
As a result, the painting style of Kyushu Island became dim. Yangguan, it is no longer difficult to enjoy warm and mellow poems. There are still some scholars who left Yangguan in the west, but most of them have become officials and ministers.
Even mounds and stone towns can't stand the blowing of so many sighs, and Yangguan collapses and falls into the spiritual territory of a nation. Will eventually become a ruin, a wasteland. Behind him, sand graves are like tides, and in front of him, cold peaks are like waves. No one can imagine that here, 1000 years ago, the grandeur of life and the vastness of artistic feelings were verified.
There should be several voices of Hu Jia and Qiangdi here. The timbre is extremely beautiful, harmonious with nature and fascinating. Unfortunately, it has become the sad voice of the soldiers. Since a nation can't bear to hear it, they disappear in the north wind.
Go home, it's getting late. I'm afraid it will snow again.