In the past, I often saw people carrying caged birds wandering around the streets early in the morning (now there are fewer people with such leisure). What interests me is not the man's leisure, but the bird's distress. The eagle carried on the arm sometimes has a piece of skin covering its head and is crouching motionless with its feathers untidy. How can it show the slightest aura of majesty and arrogance? Not to mention the bird in the cage, which has been kept in the fence all year round. It is convenient, and there is a cotton cover to protect you from the wind in winter, which is a very "preferential treatment", but if you want to "strive for success", you will have to hit a wall. When a bird reaches this stage, I think its depression is probably second only to a fly stuck on tape, and its happiness is probably only better than living in a herbarium?
I I started to appreciate birds in Sichuan. At dawn, there are birds chirping outside the window. They are not chirping sparrows or croaking crows. The sounds are crisp and loud. Some are long calls, including six or seven tones, and some are full of moonlight. It is a voice, round but not monotonous. Sometimes it is a solo, sometimes it is a chorus, it is simply a harmonious symphony. I don’t know how many spring mornings the sound of birds has awakened me from my dreams. When the sun rises high and the city is noisy, the bird becomes silent and disappears. It was not until night that I heard the cuckoo calling again, from far away to near, and from near to far. The sound was as urgent as the sound of the cuckoo, but it was actually a sad and sad song. When guests hear this at night, they are indescribably sad!
In the daytime, you can't hear the singing of birds, but you can see the shape of the birds. There is no creature in the world more beautiful than a bird. How many unknown birds are jumping on the branches, some with long tails, some with long pointed beaks, some with bright colors on their chests, and some with flying Only then did the colorful festoons shine. With almost no exception, the bodies of birds are all exquisite and plump, thin but not shriveled, plump but not bloated. If you lose one point, you will be too thin, if you add one point, you will be too fat. They are so slender and fit, and they dance so lightly. Ling, it's like there are springs on my feet. Look at him sitting high on the branch. Looking forward to the wind - such sharp joy stabbed my heart. I don’t know what stirred it, but it fluttered its wings and flew away without looking back or feeling sad. It disappeared in a flash like a rainbow, leaving behind infinite confusion. Sometimes there is an egret standing in the rice field, holding one leg and hunching its neck. Sometimes "a row of egrets ascends to the blue sky", with the dark green mountains and glazed green terraces behind it, it is like a kite catching chicks. The eagle, chirping and circling in the sky, also has a majestic appearance that makes people happy.
I love the sounds and shapes of birds. This hobby is very simple. I have no illusions about birds. Some people are so excited that they can't sleep all night when they hear the cuckoo for the first time. They think of "Du Yu" and "Wang Di" for a while, and then they think of crying for blood and guest's sorrow, which makes them feel infinitely poetic. I told him that was not the case at all. The cuckoo is originally a very strong bird, much bigger than ordinary cuckoos, with a flat beak and a big mouth. It is not particularly beautiful. Moreover, it does not know how to build its own nest, so it relies on its physical strength to lay its eggs in another nest. If there are enough eggs in the nest, they will be squeezed out unceremoniously, and the responsibility of incubation will be shouldered by others. After hatching, and the feathers will become more abundant, they can take possession of the nest as their own. After hearing what I said, the man could no longer conjure any poetic thoughts about this tyrannical and ruthless Wu. I think Keats's "Nightingale" and Shelley's "Skylark" are not all poets' own fantasies. What does it have to do with birds?
Birds do not always bring joy to people, but sometimes they also give people joy. sorrow. The poet Hardy said in a poem that on Christmas Eve, with a blazing fire burning in the furnace, spring in the room, and a sumptuous banquet on the table, he was preparing to spend a night of universal celebration when he suddenly saw a beautiful scene outside the window. In the snow scene, there was a little bird standing on the edge of a cold branch, pecking at a remaining frozen fruit. Unable to resist the harsh cold wind, it fell to the ground and died, rolling into pieces. A snow ball! The poet lamented: "Bird! You didn't even give me this happy night!" I also had a similar experience. In a house with double glass windows in the northeast, I suddenly saw a sparrow on a branch. , beating tremblingly, pecking at a dry leaf. But I found that the sparrow's feathers were particularly long and fluffy: it looked like it was wearing a raincoat, which immediately reminded me of the large group of ragged and bloated people on the garbage heap. The description was exactly the same. . The lonely sparrow has no time to mourn.
Since leaving Sichuan, it is no longer easy to see so many types of birds dancing, nor is it easy to hear such sweet bird songs. It's just that when the chimney is smoking early in the morning, a group of sparrows huddle next to the chimney under the eaves to keep warm. Sometimes you can still see the reflection of the sparrows lying on the window lattice through the window paper. The magpie escaped to nowhere. Pigeons with whistles are rarely seen swirling in the sky. At dusk, you can occasionally hear jackdaws clamoring on the ancient trees, and at night, you can still hear the strange cry of an owl that sounds like crying and laughing at the same time. The most eye-catching thing is the little birds in cages that I see by chance, but I can't bear to look at them.