In Gudao town. The wind ushered in a group of strangers. It may think of a group of reclamation soldiers and civilians it met in the early 1960s. I started out as a group of strangers. This makes it a little excited.
The smell of a gust of wind sweeping the beach and fields came in its familiar way and wrestled in their arms. At that moment, his body evoked all the fragmentary memories about the wind. In the hollow valley, in Shan Lan, at the mountain pass, at the seaside ... The wind blows through the ears like scales and entangles every obstacle with quick skills. He leaned down and stood on the land at the mouth of the river like a reed grass, closed his eyes, took a deep breath and invited the wind to blow to his chest in an attempt to exchange the promise of entering this strange land. The wind seems to have washed away the foul air of the world, and my body feels brand-new. They reached a tacit understanding with this hearty ceremony similar to that of fifty years ago.
An intruder can't help feeling guilty when he recalls the gradual change of scenery outside the window. In the past, this timid body in the market suddenly faced the world with an open mind, and the suddenly enlightened visual threshold was like a coiled tide worm, exposed in broad daylight and at a loss. With the deepening of the hinterland, it is difficult to find the focus as far as the eye can see, and the sparse vegetation on both sides of the road grows like stubble in bright soil; Tough and tangible clods seem to put the lines of mechanized farming civilization under their arms; Cars, swaying from head to tail in the bumps, on the palette of Shandong Central Plains, several dull grayish yellow background colors peculiar to the Yellow River Basin, in the line of sight, the upstream and downstream flee and collide-this scene reminds him of the rural geography in juan rulfo's novels, like a rough and sturdy northern man's untidy daily life.
The wind has witnessed the things on the earth-both desolation and prosperity are natural normality, more like an intertextuality of life rotation. During this short trip to the island and port, the primitive ecology untouched by military reclamation, oil and other multiculturalism surfaced. This ecological texture seems to be a joke played by God on the people on the island. Under the beach, it is difficult to present mulberry fields. Today's isolated island responds to God's black humor with the dazzling business cards of 10,000 mu of Sophora japonica fragrance and romantic wetlands. At present, if the island is centered on this and heading west-a young city is in the ascendant; Oriental marine culture is emerging in Ran Ran. The remaining desolation is like a blank, although it is a time specimen forgotten and left behind in the wave of urban transformation. This specimen is a way of reviewing development, and it still retains a trace of dignity of beach ecology. Gauguin, a French post-impressionist painter, used a brush to think hard in Tahiti forgotten by human civilization: Who am I? Where did it come from? Where are you going? Unfortunately, the loss of real civilization and paranoia about the ideal world can't give him an answer, and the answer is assumed in countless fables in history. The history of an island is like a fable. Who would have thought that a world below sea level, like an unresolved case, was carried out from the flowing water of history in the repeated changes of the Yellow River. The island comes from the birthplace of Xiaosuo. After several generations of dredging and slash-and-burn cultivation, it is gradually rejuvenated, and its future development trend is also accompanied by fable and fate.
Just like fate is unpredictable. Trees, also intruders, grow and migrate wantonly on the chessboard of an isolated island, regardless of the rules, which is different from the norms and order of similar cities. When they were seeds, they were adopted by wild wind from other places. The wind taught them the ambition to survive. Where the seeds fall, they are no longer weak. They are unsociable, scattered hundreds of miles in Fiona Fang, and stick to one side like determined missionaries. Among them, a salt-tolerant plant named Tamarix chinensis set foot on this land and became the earliest "indigenous" here. These people are short and unattractive, but they are well versed in the philosophy of existence. Their roots grow very well in the soil in the most salinized areas. They are the beachhead version of the "iceberg", more than ten meters underground in exchange for seven feet on the ground, living like a fairy. In April, reeds are waist-high and tamarisk is placed in them. You expect me to take care of each other and enjoy each other's chic. He thought: in the face of survival adversity, people are not as good as a tamarisk tree. People floating in the world often rely on faith (not to mention the lack of reverence for faith and morality nowadays), while Tamarix sticks its bones into its territory in order to survive. In the dark and dry depths, the sand shortage tests the hardness of a skeleton all the time.
The accompanying companion poked at his waist and joked that if we were left here without communication and transportation, you couldn't imagine walking out of here alive. He looked at Tamarix and felt that his young bones were like fishbones.
The wind blows across the earth. The car still keeps going. The scenery here will soon be forgotten by the collecting group. He picked up his mobile phone, leaned against the window and hastily photographed the strange and desolate appearance, which was another kind of reality. At the same time, the 1.9 million mu artificial locust tree forest, which is only a stone's throw away, will usher in another grand bloom of life in the slow May. At this moment, they are like peacocks who open their screens at any time, suppressing their excitement and humming gloomily in the wind. Thus, the wonderful moment of both opposition and unity in this land is like a hub to promote the plot of the drama, completing one cycle after another in the bite of profit and loss.
Sophora japonica, unconscious beauty
In May, people were trapped in the smell of Sophora japonica weaving.
A group of people are a little unlucky. Stepping on the tail of April, clusters of Sophora japonica are still hidden in the secret momentum. He can only listen to a local prose writer's description of Huailin, but he still can't quench his thirst. The locust tree in the writing world is gorgeous, and language and rhetoric are moved around like extra luggage. In his visual experience, Sophora japonica is full of fragrance, creating a faint poetic life, just like a little hermit. In the wild in the north, this plant can't stand high in temples because of its popularity and folk practicality. When you are in it, you can feel the coolness and easygoing nature. If there is a breeze, simple and clean flowers are swaying frequently, and you can even feel them talking and laughing.
The reality is not good, we can only assume. He expected that 10,000 mu of Sophora japonica flowers were so fragrant that there must be incense in them. The scent is like a password. Once connected, it will float overnight at an amazing speed. People's sense of smell belongs to the category of "mediocre qualifications" in the sense of natural somatosensory. When the fragrance of Sophora japonica is overflowing, you can't tell the true ownership of the fragrance after all. They are like a choir, with clear pronunciation and mellow voice. This tacit understanding without command makes people's synaesthesia lose its rhythm. His breathing rate began to accelerate and his ventricle tried to enlarge. In order to breathe the purest Yilan breath again and again, he gasped almost greedily until the aroma faded sharply in possession. Suddenly, he thoroughly understood the madness of Greenough Ye, the protagonist in Suskind's novel Perfume, which was more like a metaphor. When they gathered in this once barren land, human conquest realized transformation and turn over with the materialization of spirit.
So far, he has seen two things related to white on the isolated island, Sophora japonica and beach salt. This way of coexistence is close to philosophy, and two natural things present a tacit fairy tale thinking in different lifelines. He can't help but smile here: he has a kind of love out of freedom, which makes mankind stand out, and because of this, he has been trying to find freedom. Freedom is the gene of development. What is development? He thought of a sentence, "look for something first, then look for it." He doesn't know whether Sophora japonica is something found in Gudao Town, but setting up a festival for Sophora japonica is actually a footnote to commemorate the hard years of transforming the island. The islanders remember the kindness of their ancestors, and the bread here contains spiritual continuity and precious humanistic consciousness.
An urbanite enjoying Sophora japonica in Gudao Town is a deconstruction of old aesthetic habits. For him, this is a way of heart-to-heart exchange. If there is a place that can reach some kind of tacit understanding with the soul and the spirit of pursuing sexual spirit, it is a trip related to beauty in itself. The spiritual temperament in writing is what he pursues. Similarly, the spiritual temperament of a person or a place is the nutrition he craves. The reason is just like one of his friends said: No matter how fashionable one dresses, there is always a limit to getting respect from others. The important thing is to convey spiritual temperament. As a cultural symbol of an isolated island, Sophora japonica is not only as thin as providing a romantic place, but also a reformer on the estuary land, which has a far-reaching impact on the living environment of one side of the water and soil. He thinks that in this sense, the unconscious use of Sophora japonica in the depths of life is the core of beauty. As Thoreau said, "beauty comes from some unconscious truth, unconscious nobility, and never cares too much about appearance;" This predestined beauty will be guided by the unconscious beauty of life. "
Take a walk in the Woods. The feet are covered with cut and bound reed stalks. On the isolated island, reeds are overgrown and wild. They are like hair on the earth, dredging the essence in the body. Weeds are not strange in appearance, but they are the parents of food and clothing in this area. They are used as pasture, medicine, greening, paper making and climate regulation ... they can even be transformed into exquisite works of art under the costume of artists. In a local studio, he saw with his own eyes that they were carefully made into lifelike craft paintings after more than a dozen processes such as ironing, grinding, splicing and bonding. Reed has experienced a magnificent and broad season in its life. Even if it is unfortunately turned into rotten grass and buried in mud, its life is so complete. People are reeds in the city, but they are increasingly alienated from the local flavor, claiming to be noble, but they are not willing to live like dirt, and they are not just a plant ash.
He thought, we may never really live.
On that day, walking into Huailin was like entering the territory of a family, and human beings were just passing by in a hurry. With a heart of hospitality, he came to the living room in the depths of Huailin, where there will be a bonfire poem with flowers as the medium.
He can't write poetry, but he knows that the beauty of poetry is also in the unconscious of life.
Blessing in a small town
This town is like a person. At the beginning of his long life, he has owned his own pagoda forest, oil field and ecological wetland-just like the three great blessings in life. Along the way, I listened with great interest to the narrator's story about this man. How did he come from poverty and how did he start from scratch? Until today, he has entered a stormy era, still calm and restrained. His temper is nothing like his name. He swallowed like a fish and swam slowly at the mouth of the Yellow River. The Yellow River starts from the source Bayan Kara Mountain range and flows all the way here, carrying a lot of sediment every year, constantly strengthening the muscle contour of the island. Standing on the bank of the Yellow River, a group of people happily took pictures, full of childlike interest. No matter how fashionable the cameras and mobile phones in their hands are, it seems that they can't capture the complex feelings and sense of history facing the Yellow River. In this beautifully decorated era of science and technology, the Yellow River seems to be more and more outdated and domineering. The personality of those years was accompanied by the history of mud and sand, and there was a trace of divinity when people still knew the sense of awe. Nowadays, it seems to be domesticated, and more often it is firmly controlled and demanded by human beings. At the end of the sea, the gentle Yellow River is silent. It has been transfusing blood for Chinese civilization for 5,000 years, and its blood has been churning with the surging of this long river of history. At this time, blood vessels and rivers are singing on the other side.
In this distant spring, I looked at it eastward, but I couldn't stay. "The deceased is like a husband, staying up all night." The Yellow River keeps going day and night. When it stops, the roar of time becomes drifting loneliness. This feeling has been submerged until it enters the ecological wetland of the Yellow River Delta.
In the wetland, all kinds of wild birds nest and settle down here. Some are long-distance migratory birds; Some are pampered rare birds; Some changed their household registration and became permanent residence status; Some people come here to recuperate with minor injuries. You can see the sanctimonious skua and the proud red-crowned crane living in the same room, ignoring each other. Peacocks are parroting with other birds, swans are the quietest, sleeping in pairs on the water and burying their heads in thick feathers. In the animal world, he temporarily forgot his social identity. Humans are also a part of the animal world. The same environment, we just appreciate each other. He further found that birds seem to turn a blind eye to human visits. He tried to get close to a wandering wild duck on the trestle, but it jumped into the water without warning. I thought it was hiding, but after dozens of seconds, it came out of the water with a vibration and had a small fish in its mouth. It swam across the river at his feet like no one's watching and walked comfortably-when he returned to this noisy city a few days later, this vivid picture was still rippling in his memory. This scene is not unusual, but I don't know why, he feels heartfelt yearning. The order of this wetland made him sort out the fact that the world has its own laws of harmony, which are also applicable to arrogant human beings. It whips and redeems at the same time.
If the wetland is a gift from the Yellow River, then the oil field is an unexpected joy created by nature. Gudong Oilfield is the largest beach oilfield in China, which was born on the alluvial fan plain newly deposited in the Yellow River. On the way to Gudong East seawall, the collecting group stopped by an oil extractor for a short visit. He knows that this is not the beauty in his heart. In his eyes, the oil press is more like a needle for drawing blood, piercing the skin of the soil, and he cries for her pain. Oil is a kind of burning blood, which maintains the function of industrial civilization and world order. The non-renewable resources on which it depends will be gradually exhausted one day, and the demand of human beings is endless. He lamented that this land has contributed too much essence, and people living here can only rely on blood, which is probably a kind of mutual understanding.
In Gudao town, he can easily distinguish the two. He can't count the more unique local scenery one by one, but in the breath of isolated islands, he smells the fragrance of Sophora japonica and salt flats, the spring of a city and the coming summer, which may be enough.