Sakura Valley is located in the gap between several mountains. At first, it was a small valley full of wild cherry trees. Later, a small village was slowly bred in the valley. Peach blossoms and cherry blossoms are planted in front of every household in the village, and they live by the stream according to the mountain.
Year after year, every time the valley blooms in spring, the cherry blossoms are red and unfamiliar, the willow leaves are green, the butterflies are dancing, and the swallows are singing. The scenery is really charming. As the saying goes: "The mountains may not be deep in the Spring Festival Evening, but cherry blossoms are everywhere."
In recent years, my hometown has made use of the local natural advantages to develop tourism resources and introduced many Japanese cherry blossoms. Every time the flowers bloom, it is like a dream, just like a fairyland in Luofu, attracting a large number of tourists to enjoy cherry blossoms. As described in Su's Cherry Blossom Falls:
Japanese cherry blossoms have a short flowering period, but they will wither in about ten days. On a whim, the flower watcher lingered among the cherry blossoms for thousands of times, lingering. It's a pity that after several storms, no matter how reluctant people are to stay, they still fall into the rain in the voice of regret.
Su's poem, on the surface, is a sad scene of sad cherry blossoms falling, but more is to express his sad fate. He had an illegitimate child since he was a child, and spent half his life alone overseas, where he was given the cold shoulder. I have walked through countless bridges and enjoyed the cherry blossoms in Japan. After all, other countries are still other countries, and I miss Wan Li. I can only remember the Zhejiang tide in my hometown in the dream of Chunyulou, in the sound of flute and flute.
After countless times of lovelorn love, he became a monk and returned to the secular world, but he was discouraged from joining the revolution. He is poor and hungry, half monk and half vulgar, and the classics are declining. Even if the talent is extraordinary, it is out of date. Finally, in a sakura rain. I worked hard for half my life and died of depression.
No one knows the broken bowl of mango shoes that has been remembered by future generations for many years. Is he an impassioned revolutionary or a monk who doesn't avoid meat? Is it a great talent full of knowledge, or a bohemian poet and monk? It's hard to tell.
But what does it matter? His life, like brilliant cherry blossoms, is short, gorgeous and affectionate. I only remember that a person, like a flower, bloomed heartily and lived brilliantly all his life.
In spring, under every cherry tree, he left his figure, and every time he looked back, he left amazing poems. Even his voice is sighing, although it is hard to avoid sadness, it is also warm and moving.