Zhu Wan fills his backyard with spring and poetry.
My uncle is a vegetable grower. He only grows fruits and vegetables with long growth cycle and strong growth. Wax gourd is my second uncle's first choice. When the wax gourd is full of summer rain and autumn sun, the second uncle will take the wax gourd home one by one like a child.
These winter melons are often eaten by us all winter.
In winter, they are crowded under my uncle's bed, which is dry and warm. They are yellow in green and pink in yellow. Every melon struggles to reveal a shy and wild expression, which makes people feel a little useful from the bottom of their hearts.
However, some sad things often happen.
The following spring, some seemingly fresh winter melons festered inexplicably in their stomachs, which was heartbreaking and confusing.
-A wax gourd, what unknown pain does it have? This kind of pain destroyed it from the inside, and the virus deepened day by day, but its surface was always so calm and never showed any pain.
Later, I read the poem "Midnight Poetry" by Akhmatova, the mainstream poet of the Russian "Silver Age". The first warning, the poet wrote: "How many abyss I have sung/how many mirrors I have looked at." I found that the feeling of reading his poems was inexplicably similar to that of reading my winter melon. When reading Akhmatova's poems, my eyes often fantasize about this scene:
Between heaven and earth, where the snow is widely distributed, is a gloomy city of St. Petersburg. The spire of the building inserted into the foggy sky like a dagger. There are fast-moving carriages on the narrow streets, and there is a piece of dirty mud under the wheels. Next to the street, stood a woman whose face was blown by the cold wind. People who have seen this woman only feel her peace, and no one knows her inner pain. She is like a wax gourd, with a shiny surface but an unknown pain in her heart. ...
What I never expected was that this illusion would be displayed at my uncle's house soon.
That afternoon, my uncle died quietly with a melon in his arms.
What shocked me was my grandmother, with messy hair and rickety back. When she saw her uncle's body, she didn't "burst into tears". After my uncle's funeral, my grandmother took my uncle's place and went to the backyard to look after the melon left by my uncle. Grandma's face is as calm as the melons who lost their second uncle, which makes our whole family unable to calm down.
But one evening, when I saw my grandmother sitting silently among the wax gourd people, I suddenly felt the sadness that the white-haired man in my grandmother's heart sent the black-haired man.
That's when I realized-
Calm pain is heartbreaking pain, and painful peace is the peace of mature life.