one
A beam of light poured into the top of Mount Everest along the direction of the Himalayas, and the snow-capped mountains woke up. Snow hisses, like some kind of response, as well as gentle care for the roof of the world. At this time, under Mount Everest, larks flapped their wings and pecked out a little milky white in their mouths. They want to draw a sketch of the summer solstice in the clear kingdom.
There is a melodious and euphemistic flute moving in the picture. Like broken silver sprinkled by moonlight on Lake Namco, dancing with the green silk skirt; Like a quiet stream in the secret place of Qiangtang grassland, there is less roar of Nujiang River, more eloquence cover, and it is as warm as a good friend. Just like the wind horse flag at any pass on the 3 18 road, the six-character mantra is happily sprinkled all over the world along or against the wind.
As the sun moves slowly, the flute is getting closer and closer, as if it came from the distant Wei and Jin Dynasties. It is easy for people to establish some connection between bamboo forest, wine, loneliness and flute. It's like talking to Mount Everest, mixing the echoes of prayer wheel, highland barley wine, Gesanghua, Manidui and blue lagoon, mixing the attitude and chanting towards Tibetan areas, moving the thick sunshine in the thin air into the bottom of my heart, and lifting the Tethys ancient sea without saying hello, which becomes a tribute and greeting to the white cliff at an altitude of 5,600 meters.
The sun sang softly until the tail of light covered the other side of the mountain. The piper comes from a place as mysterious as an ancient book. The words inside are like a clock, purring and turning in this person's heart. Like the never-ending prayer wheel of Everest base camp, it conveys a steady stream of goodwill and light to the world.
The flute player chose to stay parallel to Mount Everest, just like an athlete standing at the starting line, always keeping a side angle with the referee. Perhaps, choosing a face-to-face dialogue with the snow-capped mountains and gods doesn't need to be so eager for quick success, just need humility and calmness. Just across the Pacific Ocean, you can see the outline of Walden Lake, which is full of sunshine, grass, dew and water.
People who play the flute are called satellites, which are infiltrated by sandstorms in the northwest and Mogao grottoes in Dunhuang. In the sound of a flute in the snow, I heard the call of the grassland and the sadness that westerners left Yangguan for no reason. I heard Namco's wish to fly with Nyainqentanglha Mountain. I heard the intoxication of white clouds carving blue and white flowers when they lived in Moon Bay. I heard the flowing water in the mountains leave a string of crunching footsteps carrying camels in the round sunset.
In the desert, the wind splashed yellow sand, splashing a rich and boundless flute.
Under Mount Qomolangma, distant flutes and videos of twinkling stars and blue light hover over Shigatse, scooping out fresh juice from the fruit bowl in the sky and dripping on the back of Mount Qomolangma-
This flute is a love letter written by the satellite to the snowy plateau on the way to Tibet.
Just like Guangling San belongs to Ji Kang, the sound of snow belongs to the satellite, to his Mount Everest, to the flute, shakuhachi, wine and moonlight of Chongqing's two rivers that he can't live without all his life.
two
Sometimes, it takes a reason to fall in love with a city.
Last summer, I walked into the old Yangguan road in the northwest, and a gust of wind got into my sleeve and blood vessels like a demon. I wanted to go to the beacon tower to see how the endless desert and the strong wind confronted each other, but I couldn't help myself. I had to get into the car in a hurry and let the wind and sand bite and spread outside the window. I fled to Pingshan Lake Grand Canyon. After years of squeezing, exile and collision, there is a calm and forbearing heart under the rough coat of the Grand Canyon. It stands in the distance, like a wise man overlooking the past of Hexi Corridor. In particular, the relationship between rocks, like the two rivers in Chongqing, has gone through the same road and has been unforgettable for thousands of years.
This is the case in the northwest. I don't like to hide anything, thinking about something will definitely show the same expression on my face. Emotions and sorrows are like the faces of Sichuan opera. I like the temperament of the northwest. Just like the continuous high temperature in Chongqing, people don't pretend to be polite, but wear formal clothes to go in and out of restaurants. Instead, find a spicy hot pot restaurant on the roadside, shake the cattail leaf fan while drinking mountain beer, and turn the hot pot upside down. Sandstorms and canyons are honest like Chongqing people. They don't haggle over every ounce, they don't worry about gain and loss, they are frank, kind and generous from red peppers and stoves.
When a satellite from the northwest met Chongqing once, he was immediately attracted by this city with the same breath. Of course, besides Jie Fangbei and beautiful women, Hongyan culture and capital culture, Shu Road and Three Gorges, there are also beer, hot pot, poetry and riverside street lamps.
Satellites with great temperament often take the shakuhachi, cymbals, flutes and flutes out of their pockets after three rounds of drinking, and there are live versions of classical musical instruments. A farewell is played by different instruments. I saw the sadness of picking willows to bid farewell to my friends at Shili Pavilion near Baqiao Bridge. Yishui, the wind is rustling, the strong men are solemn and stirring, and they are gone forever; The vast desert sunset hangs in the west, and then his poems disappear at the corner of the pass, leaving only hoofprint behind, all the way along the sand, ups and downs. The pitch of the shakuhachi, the roundness and fullness of the flute, the simplicity and mystery of the flute, and the smooth texture of the flute, like a string of pearls, are skillfully connected by satellites and scattered in the depths of time with the winding two rivers.
The famous song of the satellite is Taohuadu. In the quiet valley, a peach blossom flies like a butterfly on the roadside, at the mouth of the stream and in the winding path. Peach leaves, like peach leaves, do not need to cross the river. But there is nothing to cross, and I welcome you myself. The spoony man, holding a ray of plain and even light, leads to the feeling of lovesickness, waiting for the woman with low eyebrows and light smell, waiting for the news that the water has fallen out.
Feelings are transmitted at the fingertips, and the flute rises from the ground. Bamboo, spent in a slow time and colorful range. The six flute holes are the night when the shower begins to rest, and the fresh dew flashes charming eyes; It is a ticking camel bell, overwhelming, leaving a crescent moon with a solitary smoke. Tonight, the flute of Taohuadu blew a lake, and the man waited in the dim light.
Different scenes are interpreted by satellites with different meanings. Gobi desert, in the sound of flute and flute, there is the grandeur of galloping horses. In the south of the Yangtze River with small bridges and flowing water, satellites have given rise and fall. On the endless grassland, the satellite exudes the composure and heroism of flags fluttering in the wind. The Yellow River covered the Zoige grassland with a thick postmark, and the flute was overwhelming. The canoe has passed the Three Gorges in Chung Shan Man. Satellites are chanting in high places, and the flute is cadenced and clear. At this time, the moonlight in the mountain city coated the Jialing River with a layer of gold powder, and the flute and flute gradually quieted down.
A fast and slow timbre, like a waterfall pushing a mountain.
Quiet melody is the mood of birds leaving their hometown.
Relaxing rhythm is the narrative of rain hitting banana.
An easy fingering is the sound of the first ray of light hanging on the white outer wall of Potala Palace in the morning.
Inhale and exhale, beginning of autumn's eyes are full of complicated feelings, half wrapped in summer stories and half pinned on clouds.