Someone wrote, "Worry about getting drunk for no reason. Before the wine arrives, it turns into tears. The night is deep, the lights are gone, the lights disappear between the lights, but I lean on the pillow and chat to sleep. This endless loneliness really makes the taste of loneliness similar. Come to this matter, the brow of the heart, there is no intention to avoid ... "Don't ask whose poem, I always feel that wine may not be able to drown my sorrows.
Zhang Ailing once said: "The wine is in the stomach, the matter is in the heart, and the wine cannot drown the heart ..."
Similarly, people's emotions also have moldy periods, and I am no exception. Tonight's worries are stuffed in my heart, and I'm on pins and needles. So, I turned my desolation into a leaf that fluttered with the wind and fell into the loneliness of the ancient street. My desolation blackened the night of the ancient street, and the thick ink-like night was broken in my desolation, and tears were scattered all over the floor, as if I understood my mood at the moment. Under the dim streetlights of the ancient street, my heart shook nimbly.
I live in this ancient town with thousands of years of history. Due to the need of economic construction, I expanded and rebuilt everywhere, leaving this only ancient street. The ancient street in front of us is the braid left by the late Qing Dynasty. This is a leadership crutch left by a wise old man; It is also a place where I can stay and let me breathe a sigh of relief! I walked slowly into the ancient street with an umbrella, and I looked for it in this braid; I'm lost in this crutch. This bony old street is not wide. If you stretch your arms, you can pull the ancient brick walls together. Two rows of ancient houses, small attic with blue bricks and small tiles, reveal secrets in an antique way. Such a quiet ancient street, I crushed thousands of years of secular disputes and endless noise to death in my hands, leaving behind a broad-minded, harmonious and fresh!
The wind tugged at the skirts of rainy nights, accompanied by dizzy lights, dancing with the graceful rhythm; Beads of rain at night hang on both sides like curtains along the eaves of small tile houses. How beautiful! At this time, I am no longer a leaf, but a painter. It seems that the wind is the pen, the rain at night is the ink, and the beautiful scenery of the ancient street is the drawing paper, depicting an ink palace hanging in my heart.
The rainy night continued, and the water splashed on the slate, playing a sweet classical tune. Warm homesickness flowed into the lattice window from the dim indoor lights, and some were absorbed in reading. Some families get together to watch TV; Some tables in Ma You are enjoying them; Some old people are talking about old stories about old streets ... they are peaceful, harmonious and warm!
I walk on the ancient street, the rain is dancing at night, and the hazy ancient street is full of spirituality. In the dim light, I seem to see a fairy in a misty white gauze skirt. Her hair flutters around her waist, and her smile enters my heart like a flower. She came with Tang poetry and Song poetry in her arms and a yellow oiled paper umbrella in her delicate hand. Stop and go, tell the love story in a dream of red mansions, and tell the prosperity of history! I stood in the rain, thinking about her swaying graceful posture, lilac-like sigh, the reserve and shyness when we passed by, thinking, thinking, I paced to a high threshold and stopped. The heavy door is closed, which is still what I remember. The two tigers in the door kept biting iron rings in their mouths. The old street of childhood was crowded with people, shopping and selling things. The sound of popcorn here shakes the prosperity of the ancient street, and the fragrance is overflowing, which makes people drool; The post office over there is crowded with people who come to bring happiness or send happiness; Some sell candied haws, others sell windmills. ...
I remember that winter, my family of four crowded into a bunk, my brother slept with my mother, and I was eight years old with my father. Late one night, my father got bronchitis and was very ill. Listening to him panting, I secretly shed tears under the covers and finally stayed up until dawn. It was snowing outside, hungry and cold. I went to town early to get medicine for my father. On this old street, I found this house with high threshold. At that time, before the medicine door opened, I knocked on the ring in the tiger's mouth, but the door still didn't open, so I sat on the threshold and cried. At this time, all the good people in the ancient street gathered around and looked at me barefoot, asking questions. After a while, the heavy door opened, and I eagerly bought medicine and thanked him. The yellow sesame seed cake on the street smells good, and I really want to eat it. I think I still have some money in my pocket, but I am a sensible child and I won't spend money indiscriminately. My father's situation is urgent ... tears blurred my eyes and made me want to eat. At this time, I can still vaguely hear the sound of "clang, clang" knocking on Chinese medicine. ...
I walked through the whole ancient street, I walked through the Tang Dynasty, I walked through the late Qing Dynasty, and I walked through my childhood. I am convinced that the rainy night in the ancient street is the most mellow wine in my life and has turned into a changeable season; Tuned into a sigh of historical vicissitudes; Tune into quiet thoughts and ardent beliefs; Tuned into poetic flowers and pure feelings, they rotate and merge into a colorful picture in the glass of my life! Therefore, the rainy night in the ancient street is intoxicating, and it can really help me get rid of my troubles, I believe!