Who supports a long artemisia tree, which travels through the wind and dust, in the misty and rainy March, through the river of time. Once upon a time, everything in the past must be let go. Because as time goes by, mist and rain are like dreams. The roads we travel, the scenery we encounter, and the passers-by we pass by are all hidden in dreams, carved in the horizon, and painted in paintings.
The misty rain is like a dream, and the bright clear waves, in the depths of the glitz, outline a lifetime of coldness and achieve a lifetime of desolation. On the Xishan Ancient Road, pick up the poetry of autumn and find a sense of tranquility. Or a wild camellia tree in the mist, which is lovable and surprising; or a mimosa beside a gurgling spring, or a white fox in the deep mountain jungle, and you will become friends with it.
Happiness is in the rainy season, looking at an old vase placed on the table, looking at the pile of firewood left in the smoke, thinking about a memory in the ordinary passing years, thinking about the lights left by thousands of families Give people imagination. Those vows that have been irreparable, those worries that cannot be let go in this world, until one day, they will be like dandelions floating by, the wind blowing across the cheeks, after the floating clouds, the dust has settled, everything is a concern, everything is the sunset, must be let go , you must know how to be content and how to be at ease with your heart.
There is no fragrance of flowers anywhere in the world. No matter how many memories there are, they cannot withstand the gentle temptation of the wind of time. Therefore, I like poetry and recite it often. I like to travel far in spring, lie in a sunny place, and watch a misty rain, falling from beginning to end; watching a butterfly dancing gracefully, from chrysalis to emerging from the cocoon; Look at the buds on a tree, from spring to autumn, from blooming to falling. Pass by quietly, reflect quietly, and comprehend quietly. Not for poetry, not for elegance, not for meditation, just to live life as plainly as a cup of boiled water or as simple as a bowl of porridge. Maybe only in this way, life will have fewer losses, more fulfillment, and more prospects.
Time goes very far, and many times we are too late to prepare. Time has passed by our fingertips. No matter whether we have abandoned ourselves, youth, dreams, and love, everything is still where it is. Our hearts are never far away. Flowers bloom in spring, water is clear in summer, leaves fall in autumn, and snow falls in winter. Every passerby is like an ant pretending to be busy, or a flower forcing a smile, tasting the dust of the world. It's not because I'm indifferent, it's just that as time goes by, I don't care about the crowds of people passing by, and I can't remember the misty and dreamlike artistic conception.
Looking for the true self in life, struggling hard, challenging everything, afraid of wasting youth and losing passion, but neglecting a spring landscape, a peach blossom, and a night of sorrow. If possible, I would like to be a weak grass, open a deserted path, don't need to care about other people's eyes, just grow quietly at the base of the wall. Or become a green radish and climb on the old courtyard wall to protect a piece of youthful past for the past owner. I even hope to be a practicing white fox in the deep mountains and jungles, waiting for a young monk who is looking for a hermit to form a relationship with him. The longings are beautiful. In the imaginary time, the wind blows by, the moon in front of the window, the heart lingers under the tree, gains peace, and regains life and vitality. (Article reading website: www.sanwen.net)
Once upon a time, I walked through the misty and rainy scrolls without bringing an umbrella, a raincoat, a cloak, wearing a pair of headphones, and listening to a little song, which was elegant. Tactful, like flowing water, like a rainbow, like clouds. Walk along the track of time, forget those troubled years, let go of those years of care, find poetry in the rain, and regain romance in the afternoon. Those passers-by who meet by chance shout casually, and those ever-changing emotions follow the wind. change.
For this reason, I often walk in the port where time passes by, not waiting for anyone, but just watching the time quietly, holding on to the broken ship of time, with my father’s smile and my mother’s youth. , taking my childhood with me, I quietly escaped from the side in the afterglow of the sunset, without looking back or paying attention to the scenery along the way until there were no shadows and no scent. Then I suddenly realized that time is like mist and rain, where has it gone? I searched all over the world and the rainy alleys in the south of the Yangtze River, suffering myself and wasting my good years.
Live under the sky and lie quietly on the bank of the longing river. The picture of smoke and rain is so dreamy. No matter how beautiful the past years are, they have to be put down, either by the pillow or hidden in the river of time. Meng De sang and swept through the heroes; Lu Bu had the courage to kill him in the wilderness. Yuan Shao had a plan but was defeated in Guandu. Reward farming, the people and ministers will be happy, and there will be light everywhere. But facing the passage of time, he had no choice but to sing over wine, think about talents, compose poems, care about suffering, lament that life is short, his great career is not completed, and he has already died, which makes people sigh. On those nights when the moon and stars are sparse, the heroes are happy, the old scene is prosperous, and the world is ideal. After a glass of wine, you have to let go of everything you lie down quietly. People are so insignificant. In the face of time, they have to surrender. Those brilliance, fame, wealth, and power will one day disappear with the wind and cannot be found. Only by looking forward to the future and living well now can you get a moment of peace of mind.
One day of spring rain wiped out all the prosperity. Sometimes, it is too late to enjoy the brilliant spring scenery, and it is already the Qingming Festival; it is too late to enjoy a cup of clear tea, and it is already dusk; it is too late to take a look at the world, and youth is gone. Flowers are like life, hurried and short-lived. It seems like a season of light and shadow, but in fact it is fleeting. Every spring, I rush to an appointment and whisper my thoughts under the thousand-year-old tree. Those souls nourished by the mist and rain, and the years carved by the green wind, can dry up at any time. Only by always welcoming the wind and rain, in reality, looking up at the stars and taking every step well, can the years maintain their former color.
The good times in the past only belong to the past, but now you can quietly reflect on them and cherish every plant and tree now, every second and every minute. Live the present moment well, the past is like mist and rain, the past is like the setting sun, the past is like the water flowing from the east, but it will never return. Running in the sun, the wind blows quietly, the passing years are like water, the mist and rain are like a picture, and the dream is gone. Just as Haizi said, facing the sea, spring is warm and flowers are blooming.