By fate, I met her. Like poppies, the beauty is breathtaking, which makes people indulge in her words carelessly and admit defeat. She is like a pear in full bloom, so white that people can't bear to get close to blasphemy. She is San Mao. Her distance is an endless desert, and her wandering begins with nostalgia and ends with death.
There are many flowers on the sea. In the misty rain of the Republic of China, the most brilliant is undoubtedly Zhang Ailing. But I accidentally became attached to Sanmao and engraved her in my heart. Fate is a wonderful thing. If you are destined to be separated, you can recognize it at a glance, even if you are separated by thousands of waters and Qian Shan for a hundred years; There's no chance. It's right in front of me. I missed it. The cycle of the four seasons has long been engraved in the astrolabe and cannot be changed, just as I am wandering with Sanmao and Sanmao.
I have long been familiar with Sanmao's fate, but I don't know why I have a special feeling for the story of Sahara born in the desert. When I first read this book, it lay quietly on the mahogany table, and the sun shone obliquely on the beige cover. Six golden words were written into my heart. At the tip of the nose, if there is a book, full of fragrance, with historical dust, accompanied by the misty rain of the Republic of China, it comes quietly.
After a long time, I gently closed the page, brushed my fingers over the cover and lost in thought. At present, it seems like a dusty desert, a small house and two dependent people. After half a life of wandering, this is a reassuring stop, but it is not the final destination. The man who went to the desert with Sanmao without hesitation finally left his life on that land, which ultimately did not belong to his own country.
Fate has turned around and seems to have returned to the original point. Sanmao has become a wanderer again. Wandering again, just to find a home. Did she find a pure land after she quietly withdrew from the bustling world? We don't know, but after decades and hundreds of years, there won't be another San Mao in the world. Some predestinations can only be maintained in words after all, and some leave, so we really won't meet.
Everyone has a wandering heart before they really find a habitat. Just like Sanmao, because of a photo, I was homesick in my last life and came to Sahara, just like misty rain in my heart.
Jiangnan is good, and the scenery has been said. In the dream of Jiangnan, the drizzle lingered for many years. I met a spring rain in a small town in the south of the Yangtze River, and shed tears of joy when the new willow sprouted, nourishing every piece of land. The rain in the south of the Yangtze River can always fall easily in my heart.
Is it the folding fan of the romantic genius, the bun of the pink family, or is it just a foregone conclusion that was salvaged by boating between Qinhuai and Qinhuai? By the river, there was a faint song. "Strong women in business don't know how to hate the country, but they still sing backyard flowers across the river."
Some wishes, in the end, are just a wish. Jiangnan, after all, only exists in my dream. It's far away, sometimes it's a lifetime. Living in the city, we live a single and repetitive life, grinding corners and being afraid of change. We made many excuses for the unreachable distance, but they were all dashed in front of those who really took action.
Read this passage:
The past has dissipated, the sky is dark, and the shadows no longer look at the time. Maybe we can learn the way of migratory birds, live by warmth, start from the season, return from a thousand miles, or the old yard, ordinary eaves. Suddenly I thought of San Mao, and so did she. She set out anytime and anywhere, stayed in unknown places and returned at different times, just asking for no regrets.
Thousands of years have passed, and the vicissitudes of life have changed dramatically, but people's hearts have always been like this. Even if they can be honest and open, they can't be aboveboard. Who wants to sit in a restaurant? Eat your own fish for ten times the price? Who would want to drive hundreds of miles to find a camel skull? Who would want to get married without a feathered dress and white sand? How do you feel after reading it? There is only a simple skirt. How about getting married on foot? In this materialistic world, Sanmao did this.
Life is like a passbook drama. You and I are both Tsing Yi in the play, playing a story with a doomed ending. As soon as the play was over, we naturally went home, like a ship without a trace. Even so, it seems that there are too many people who pursue fame and fortune all their lives. Sanmao is very special. Her life is not for profit, not for profit, but for not losing time and life. How nice!
As time goes by, what remains unchanged is the misty rain in the south of the Yangtze River, the story of Sahara, and the eternal three hairs in our hearts. She is maverick, eating and wandering in the distance.
I recommend it carefully.