This originally foggy and rainy water town is short of rain these days, which makes the early spring in Jiangnan suddenly clear.
Walking in a water town, people often feel that they are racing against time, and their steps can't help but slow down and become lighter, as if they want to meet the past, but they are afraid of disturbing their sleep, but they are cautious and at a loss.
If you don't say the name, it is difficult to connect such a river that can be seen everywhere in the south of the Yangtze River with history. People and history are often such a strange relationship, but they are unaware of it and are separated by thousands of miles. Just like the narrow water in front of us, winding northward, the mission of many years has been quietly completed.
Because it was dug by hand, the riverbank looks neat and straighter than the scenery you have always seen in the water town. Although the spring scenery is still shallow, it can easily dye a river green, which makes people feel immersed and safe when passing by. Jiangnan is like this. It doesn't need many colors. Just a little willow smoke or a few clusters of green leaves that will not fade after winter can make the past green and the future dim.
Walking on the river bank, as usual, there are endless white tile walls on both sides. After a long time, it is getting more and more dull. Through the layered roofs, there are endless days in the distance ... nesting by water, and people and water are two kinds, but there are many old houses, and the old breath is slowly pouring out. People can't help thinking of words like "Shi Jing" and "every other year". If you look carefully, you are always used to seeing peach blossoms. Although it is daytime, business is still lazy. Several inns are closed to welcome guests. Owners chat by the door, or move a small stool and sit by the river in a daze, as if they don't care. The room is a little dark, but when you look into the river, you will feel much brighter. Needless to say, the relationship between eye contact and persistence in water towns; Life is like a river, without waves and bends, sending warblers to greet the autumn and winter rain, which is endless and spotless. If it weren't for the occasional passers-by or the smell of cooking coming from the other side of the river, it would really make people suspect that this is a dusty place and time has stopped here.
But the washerwoman on the shore made a noise. Embrace the stone steps of the river all day, without edges and corners. Several women squatted on the steps, spread out the washing bucket, and the sound of rushing water suddenly rang into one piece, rubbing and washing, and the water surface rippled and rolled. If it was in ancient times, there must have been a bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang. These fragments hooked in Yuefu poems are now picked up one by one, which will quietly warm the cold plot in the past and make the aesthetic feeling sprout secretly.
A stone arch bridge crosses the canal high, flying like a crescent moon with a silver hook upside down. Such a beautiful arc makes Joubo happy to accept this frozen reflection. I don't know how many years have passed, as a common prop in water towns, the initial proposition of arch bridge construction is often forgotten, but another proposition suddenly emerges. Because of the arch bridge, people cross the river not in the shortest straight line, but slowly up to the heights, and then slowly down, the pace naturally becomes Xu; If the mood comes, the lingering willow color in the distance of the railing and the fragrance of gardenia floating in the wind will inevitably cause nostalgia and memories of the past along the canal. Standing is only a confession of fate, and indelible memories constitute the existence of bridges. It can be seen that the bridge in the water town has never been just a bridge. This side of time is connected with the other side here, and the other side nurtures indispensable reserves. There are no traces of spring and autumn on this shore, only people's thoughts and breathing.
The aesthetic contrast with the arch bridge is the row of drainage Chinese fir. One space, two aesthetics, even the innocence of Jiangnan can't help but be pushed deeper. Metasequoia glyptostroboides is said to be a precious tree species. After a cold winter, it still looks arrogant and ignores the call of spring. This kind of standing posture is inevitably different in Jiangnan. Even in the late spring, I was dressed in green clothes, but I still couldn't cover the cold, making people look at each other with hesitation. A tree, so incompatible with the living soil and water, is like a mystery, vaguely guiding a difficult direction. Maybe it is a lonely sage, maybe it should not be a plant at all; Just like a scholar's temper, you should try your best to show your pride.
The name "Xiaolianzhuang" is really modest, but the old master's idea is much more complicated. It is also an inevitable law of existence to set up a lot of mysteries between obscurity and ostentation, and to confuse the false with the true and see the flowers in the fog. People who didn't expect came in and saw everything deliberately, so they suddenly lamented the cunning and self-knowledge of doing things. The sky is foggy. I sit by the lotus pond and watch the fish shuttle back and forth, but I feel lonely as a cloud. It's still early spring, and ten acres of residual lotus still exist, with branches poking in the water one by one. It is not difficult to imagine the prosperity of summer under depression. Cinnamomum camphora stands in front, wisteria never leaves, and a hundred years is just a breeze among branches. The owner is long gone, and there are pavilions, arched mansions and bookstores. A manor bound to the great wealth cannot fade into the black and white of an old photo. Even if Mengliang dies, there is still a layer of gold powder in your palm, which glows slightly.
In such a big hall, people think about their prosperity in their heyday. The host sat on it, although his appearance was not beautiful, but his brow was bold and sharp. He raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth. He was thoughtful and measured. Silk merchants from far and near ranked in their respective positions. Although they all have their own plans, they all seem polite and cautious. The servant shuttled back and forth with just the right movements. Every look and gesture of the owner can get information. After all, every trade game here is directly related to the economic temperature in Jiangsu and Zhejiang provinces. In the nearby baroque building, the dance is going on. French glass and glazed floor tiles sparkle in the dark, and the phonograph just brought back from the west rotates slowly, and the music flows like moonlight. A few delicate and pretty ladies are wearing colorful shirts, gently hugging their waists, and their steps move and rotate. Warm whispers, giggles, rustling leaves in the evening breeze ... and then blurred, I don't know how many hours passed ...
It is late at night. I pushed open the wooden window and saw a sparkling and strange river. I wanted to have a rest. Water vapor poured in, but it was the fragrance of grass at the bottom of the river. The night bewitched, the wind dimly discernible, people gradually blurred.
One tanker after another is weaving, the noise is staggered, the ropes are vertical and horizontal, pine, leather goods and coal are unloaded here, and rice, silk, tea and ceramics are shipped north. On the dock, people, boats and goods are in a mess, boatmen keep shouting, porters go up and down with bare arms, and shippers are busy with settlement and delivery. If the sun shines, the dock will smoke even more. However, the river has always been disapproving, and in the ripples day after day and year after year, the desire to carry the actual demand has long been unable to be stimulated. In the ancient town, all kinds of businesses and flying flags spread from the mouth of the town to the dock, and wealth expanded continuously between the goods entering and leaving. The streets are crowded with people, including many outstanding people who struggle for power and profit with huge sums of money, as well as small businessmen, proletarians and poor residents. Everyone is desperate, and it seems that this is not the case, so they failed to live up to the ambition of men and the canal around them.
As night falls, people recede like a flood, and the red lanterns in shops and guest houses gradually light up and flicker in the dark, which also lights up the owner's heart. The shopkeeper skillfully fiddled with abacus beads under the oil lamp and wrote a few strokes on the ledger from time to time, recording the mood of the day on his face. In the small hotel, the drinkers are drunk, the wheels occasionally rattle on the stone road, and the flickering boat fire on the side of the canal is a striking eye in the dark. It was dark around the town, and only the western sky was full of moonlight, which was cold and indifferent.
It's like a one-act play with no ending. The characters, scenery and props are changed again and again, and the story is repeated again and again, but there is only one stage. As the days go by, people stare at the story in front of them and inevitably play back the details of the past in their minds, chewing the sour taste of ancient and modern times-the curtain, once opened, it will never be closed again.
The change of the canal is minimal, leisurely and slow, with a calm face and unmoved by time. The history permeated with life has disappeared with the disappearance of life, and we just got its reflection. If I turn it upside down, bend down and look down at the river, the reflection will be exactly the same again. But how can it last? I finally want to turn around, stare at the reflection in the water again, catch the past waves, and let them become today's comfort.
It doesn't matter, if a storm is aroused, your eyes will be blurred and you can't see the meditation on the water; Without contrast, there is no existence. ...