In addition, if it is a story of prenatal education, I suggest you buy the series of "Smart Backpack", which are touching and philosophical stories and are also very suitable for prenatal education.
A dream of a river
I have been brought up in a pampered environment. Parents tried their best to keep war and displacement out of the door and tried their best.
Managed to give me a warm childhood, so that I can read, draw and do all the things I like happily. Even, before I
At the wedding, my father came specially to personally take me across the long red carpet of the old church in Brussels and hand me over.
To my husband. And he also understood my father's heart, so he took over the responsibility of continuing to love and protect me.
This is May Day, and the trees outside the church are full of flowers. He gave me a fragrant, soft and quaint freesia, which I will never do.
I will never forget it.
Therefore, my poem is to know an unsolved mystery between our friends. Some people say: how is this written?
Poetry? Or: How can you write such a poem? Even a good friend said, "How can you write such a poem?"
Why not? I have always believed that there should be such a love in the world: absolute tolerance, absolute.
Sincerity, absolute resentment, absolute beauty. If I can enjoy such love, let my poem do it.
Prove If you can't find such love in the world, let it exist in my poem forever, mine.
In my heart.
Therefore, I have always disliked any explanation for writing poetry. I just think that if one day passes,
After being very messy and tired, in the evening, I really want to sit down quietly and write something new or browse what I have written before.
Yes, a few records and some manuscript paper can make a very comfortable night. The night in the country is humid and warm, with sweet osmanthus fragrance.
I will never forget the moment when Molly and I were on the porch.
If painting, which I began to study in the Department of Fine Arts at the age of fourteen, is a kind of work that I have devoted my life to, then
Yao, I have been writing poems in my diary since I was thirteen years old. This is a way for me to vent. I like them both very much. no
But for the former, I have been actively pursuing, enthusiastically and seriously exploring a higher and deeper realm. about
The latter, I have never tried hard, I just waited quietly, under the lamp and in the fragrance.
Night, waiting for it to come to my heart.
Therefore, these poems have always been written for myself, and because of them, I can see myself. Know that you are
At the most beautiful moment of life, all the complicated petals are unfolded layer by layer, all as sweet as honey and as astringent as yellow.
The feeling of Lian is intertwined in my heart. Time passes quietly like a winding river, and tonight is two.
Ten years ago, my heart was broken. Looking back 20 years later, this moment will definitely be broken for me.
My Mongolian name is Mulun, which means big river. I like this name very much, if it has been.
Light is really like a river, so let the poems of these years become a dream of a river.
Thanks to all my friends who made my poems published. Please accept my most sincere thanks. Besides, Xiaofeng is so busy.
In the case of willing to write a preface for me, after that deep talk in the middle of the night, I have not only respected her.
Written in Shimen Township, which was rainy in June of 198 1.
Xi Murong
Obvious sadness
Standing on the suspension bridge between the canyons and under the full moon, we called you to come and watch the moon hanging high in the sky, but you smiled and refused.
Leaning on the other end of the suspension bridge, in the darkness of the mountain, you said:
"I hope to see you from here, because you contain the moonlight."
The mountain breeze blows gently, and the running water groans and gasps at the corner. H beside him sighed softly with such a beautiful sentence. Yuehua is like water and wine, clear and blurred. Why is there a dull pain in my heart at the moment?
Is it because you think you are hiding in the transparent moonlight?
Is it because I feel my own shortcomings and regrets in such a perfect light?
There seems to be a kind of fear that goes hand in hand.
When I was a child, the shadow in my heart came from my ignorance of the road ahead. What will I meet? What will I become? Without any revelation or sign. On this night, the unavoidable shadow comes from the complete understanding of the road ahead, and the feast is over! Gone are the days when we were in our prime, and we have never lived a good life. Please forgive me, my dear friend, forgive me, even in a bright place, my sadness and disappointment are still tightly wrapped around me.
Yes, on such a beautiful night, life can contain moonlight, but at the same time it should also contain a layer of transparent sadness.
Spring return
I know
Anything beautiful
Always refused to return it.
cannot
Who are you staying for?
-Art exhibition
As long as you know who among your friends lives in Beitou, you will naturally have a good impression on him, and you will never forget to tell him:
"My family used to be in Xinbeitou."
In fact, the old house has long been sold to others, but in my heart, I have always lived there. Every family reunion in my dream is always on the hillside of changchun road, and the yard is always full of azaleas and camellias.
There is no way, because many unforgettable things happened there and started there.
Just like what I often tell my friends: One spring afternoon, the weather was so good that I couldn't help singing in my room, singing one song after another. Through the glass of the French window, I saw Dejie coming and going among the azaleas. Her long black hair is flowing behind her head, revealing a soft and white neck, and her face turned from colorful flowers has a very mysterious smile.
Attracted by such a picture, I forgot to sing that song. I just stood at the window and stared at my smiling sister coming to me.
Sister came in, her face still red, and she said:
"Do you know why I always stay in the yard?"
"Look at the flowers? Bask in the sun? " I tried to answer her. Sister shook her head, and then, that mysterious smile floated up again:
"I stayed in the yard and told others that it was not me who sang in the house!"
Followed by, of course, is unwilling to humiliation sigh, followed by a chase and laughter. When we were both too tired to run at last, I lay on the grass. Amid laughter and gasps, I still remember many clouds flying so fast in the blue sky.
And when did that simple and ordinary life start to change? It has always been thought that it should be, and it is not surprising to get together. Why is it suddenly precious and hard to find?
Tonight, in the rainy Shimen countryside, azaleas are in full bloom on the lawn. Open the envelope of my sister's new record and gently put it on the turntable. In the quiet night, a girl like my sister, who is deep and soft, especially likes to listen to it, which is especially nice. After ten or twenty years of hard work, she finally realized her childhood wish and became an internationally renowned vocalist. However, I often think of our yard full of flowers on the hillside and the clouds in the sky, which are white and soft, but fly so fast.
It's probably not just those clouds that refuse to come back.
A fertile garden
I had a dream.
In my dream, I stood alone at the bus stop on the corner, waiting for the bus.
It seems that many buses have passed, but I can't get on. It's late at night, and my heart is getting more and more anxious.
However, every time a car comes, I always hesitate to get on. The passing carriages are either too bright or too crowded, and they look strange and noisy in the dead of night, which is always different from what I expected.
Actually, I don't seem to know exactly what I'm expecting. I just vaguely feel that there should be better choices, better roads and better atmosphere. In the next car, there should be someone I want to see.
Buses went by one after another, and I kept standing on the street corner. At midnight, the last bus that ran a red light came and finally jumped on the bus, only to find that there was no one in the carriage.
I had to sit alone at the finish line, and along the way, one street lamp after another went out in order. Looking back, the road was dark.
It was dark on the way here.
I woke up in the dark night, and the feeling of loneliness in my dream still gripped me tightly. The whole person seemed to sink into a cold and transparent world. What a bleak world this is! Hesitated a thousand times, only to find that I have nothing.
There are stars outside the window, insects are everywhere, and the night in the south is warm and fragrant. I woke up from a dream and decided never to go back to that dream.
In real life, I hope there will never be such a moment.
In real life, how many people are hesitant and picky?
When the bus comes, we will always be delayed. I don't know if we should get on the bus. I wonder if this is the one we expected. After boarding, will we meet him and reach the finish line with him, or maybe we will separate halfway and watch him fade away.
We always hope that everything is perfect, that all opportunities can appear at the same time, and that the weather will be fine and the flowers will be fragrant.
Unexpectedly, the pursuit of perfection is an imperfection, an extreme imperfection.
I have no objection to those who stick to their ideals. Some ideals are really worth sticking to for a lifetime, but life is more than that. On the long road of life, how many moments are worth staying and how many doors are worth trying to open!
It's a pity that we have been classified, treated by others and treated by ourselves since childhood. As a result of classification, we will finally embark on a narrower road and enter an increasingly closed world. In the end, we are forced to be separated from everything we like or have no time to like. Looking back, it was dark on the way, and I realized my loneliness at that moment.
I've been thinking about it all the time, if learning to draw is just for fun, not to draw very well, if people who learn to write are not necessarily in a hurry to form their own families when they are young, if people who learn to write are not necessarily in a hurry to become authorities, if people around them can classify us in a less hurry, and if this society can allow us to grow up freely and calmly; Then, how rich and beautiful life will be!
Of course, we will still move forward. On the long road of life, we still have persistence and hope, and there is light and direction in the distant front. However, we can also see how many doors are waiting for us to open calmly on both sides of the road, and how many misty paths are waiting for us to explore calmly on both sides of the road! What a rich and beautiful garden!
A few nights ago, I drove east from Nanheng Highway with my friends.
It was dusk when we set out. I didn't expect the road to be so long, so far and so rugged. However, now that we are on the road, there is no room for turning back.
The scenery on the road also makes us reluctant to look back. We drove all the way up to the mountain at an altitude of more than 2000 meters, and it was all dark.
Stars began to appear one by one, and I was anxious to figure it out in my mind. What's the date of the lunar calendar today? Because, I think, it would be great if there was a full moon!
However, that day happened to be a moonless day. I felt very disappointed and sorry, and my interest stopped.
The road became long and dark, and it seemed endless. We take turns driving. Finally, I'm really sleepy. After giving the steering wheel to my friend, I curled up in my seat and fell asleep.
In a trance, I knew that the car had reached the flat ground, but it was turning around the road, crossing the bridge made of planks, walking down the gravel-covered riverbed and onto a winding path, and the car finally stopped.
I think we're here. Some of my friends jumped out of the car to pat the door of the hotel, and some came to wake me up. But I was so sleepy that I simply lay across the front seat. Everything was arranged by others.
We're too late. There is no light or sound in the hostel. It was dark and quiet around, only a friend's voice was patiently calling softly:
"Is anyone there? Hello? "
The car door has been opened by a friend, and the mountain wind is blowing, with the fragrance of a flower in the coolness. I couldn't help turning over and opening my eyes to look at the sky on my back.
The sky is full of twinkling stars!
The sky is full of bright stars!
I have never seen more and more stars, so dense and so bright. In this noble oriental sky, crystal clear, trillions of stars are gathering together in various shapes and luminosity, like sand, like rivers, like reliefs, and like whirlpool, looking down at me from the high night sky.
At that moment, I fell madly in love with the starry sky.
Before, I only wanted to go out for a walk on a moonlit night. It seems that only the faint moonlight is the only moment I cherish. I never knew the starry sky could be so beautiful and charming.
How many unpredictable moments there are in life!
Finally understand, in fact, there is no need to pursue the door that has been missed and only exists in the past memory. Going forward, how many doors are waiting for me to open one by one, and how many different surprises and expectations should there be in life.
Looking Back can certainly let me relive those watery moonlight. However, if I just keep looking back, I will eventually miss my night and the stars all over the sky.
It turns out that as long as I am willing, how rich and beautiful garden life can be!
As long as I want to.
Sunday morning
Every Sunday is the day when I want to wash vegetables and cook by myself. I like the kind of invitation that I bought at the vegetable market in the morning. It's just ordinary street life, with a catty and a half of vegetables in my hand. Picking among papaya, watermelon and litchi, enjoying all kinds of happiness that an ordinary woman can get.
Now, when I get home, I start to clean up under the tap. Red tomatoes and green celery are washed away by an endless stream of water, and their colors are particularly fresh and pleasant.
The sunshine is very good. The lotus spray in the backyard began to bear fruit and the branches were full of flowers. Nine flowers are in full bloom next door, and bright purple flowers are crowded into our yard. A girl walked by singing outside the wall, and her immature voice turned out to be an old song:
"Do you know who you are?"
"You know, Chinese New Year is like water ..."
I smiled and picked up a cabbage and began to peel it piece by piece. The big leaves on the outer layer are dark green with many wrinkles, which may be due to the hot weather and have turned yellow and softened. However, slowly peeling down, the leaves are whiter, crisper and smoother.
Suddenly, I had a strange feeling that my hand, which was washing leaves flexibly, suddenly stopped. I stood at the window of summer, and a trance-like sadness swept through my heart.
Me? Who am I?
What kind of person am I? After all, who am I?
In front of many friends and many things, I always feel happy and excited sincerely. I really like this world, I hope the world likes me, I hope I can stay with my friends forever, and nothing will change. At that moment, I was a satisfied and happy person.
However, at other times, only when I am with a few friends, my sad heart will slowly leak out, and then, gradually, slowly, I will be completely submerged.
Once, a boy asked me in their lovesick university campus:
"Why is what you said different from what you just said?"
Is it? Am I like this? Just now, I talked with a group of people in their brightly lit classroom for two hours. I said how carefree I am, how much I don't need anything, how happy I am, how free and easy I am, and I hope they can look at everything like me. Finally, I smiled and said goodbye to everyone, turned around, sat on the grass with a few students who stayed behind, and asked me questions in this corner where the lights could not shine. I'm talking about my anxiety, my fear and my unwillingness to die, but it's completely different from what I just said.
So, the boy will ask me:
"Why is what you said different from what you just said?"
Yes, I said something different, but I didn't mean to, and I didn't lie at any time. I just changed my role and had to change my mood, and so on.
I always feel that at some special moments, I seem to be both an actor and an audience. On the colorful and noisy stage, one happily plays the role given to me by God, while the other stands far away from the excitement and looks at it with tears in his eyes. You know, no matter how generous I have been rewarded, no matter how hard I try to make myself worthy of this reward, no matter how gentle and beautiful the world has been, life is still like a river, flowing silently around us day and night.
The play has been playing, but we can only occupy that very short moment, and even the sweetest life is only a moment.
My joy and sadness are born from this, and my reluctance and unwillingness are also for this reason.
How I love this colorful world in my heart! But how to enjoy every minute with trepidation. How generous I want to share everything with my friends, but I firmly hold a lonely corner and never open it easily. How happy and fearful I am in the face of the oncoming joy and happiness!
The vegetable leaves are peeled off layer by layer, the color is getting lighter and lighter, but the water is getting more and more.
I'm also peeling myself off layer by layer. I want to know, which floor is the real me?
Is it the woman who is a happy wife and mother? Or the woman who is careful to be a student and a teacher?
Is that the woman who paints oil paintings in the studio? Or the woman who keeps a diary word by word under the lamp?
Is that woman holding a bunch of lilies in the dusk, crying like rain for no reason? Or the woman riding a bicycle alone and walking behind the moon with a smile on the winding mountain road?
What kind of person am I? Which one is the real me?
Who can really understand my love and cherish for this world? Who would really believe it?
Finally, the leaves were peeled off, and the peeling became tighter and tighter, leaving only a tender and juicy Chinese cabbage.
I put it on the chopping block and went sideways, tears welled up in my eyes.
Outside the wall, the singing girl is back, or just that song:
"Do you know who you are?"
"You know, Chinese New Year is like water ..."
Summer window, what a beautiful Sunday!