Appreciation of landscape prose: the story of Jiulong Mountain
Longshan, formerly known as Longshan, is surrounded by water on three sides. There are Li Sanhe in the north, Yinghai in the east and Yanghe in the south.
When boarding the ship, the mountains are faint and winding, and the water is clear and gurgling. Wild geese are flying in rows in the blue sky. The sunset is beautiful and painted with rosy clouds.
In spring, the mountains are full of flowers, green grass and beautiful grass. Birds are singing, full of green and willows are hanging down along the river. Fish playing in the water attracts geese and ducks to linger.
Zhu Bi in Xiahe River, dragonflies drop their buds. The evening breeze is blowing gently, and the pavilions are flashing with neon lights. Whoever caresses the zither string and touches the hearts of the Iraqi people will miss you infinitely.
It's crisp in autumn and clear in Wan Li, but there are geese waiting in line. Heaven and earth are long, and literati are happy. Autumn chrysanthemums are gorgeous, the full moon is in the Mid-Autumn Festival, and Iraqis are like flowers, looking forward to getting together. Think of your laity thousands of miles away, your beauty is thin. Sake is slightly drunk, the leaves fall, the autumn wind is ruthless, the frost and snow cover the grass, and the night is cold. We face each other from afar, year after year.
When winter comes, I know you are going home, and your cotton-padded clothes will be sewn very carefully, so as not to feel that the embroidery is not fine when you come. When you travel to Wan Li, you can see all the water in Qian Shan, which is not as beautiful as the countryside. A pot of shochu warms people's hearts and forgets the cold in winter.
Appreciation of Scenery Prose: Dadunliang and Rape Flower
By the time I got to the big pier beam, the last butterfly had jumped over the beam, and the dusk was quietly behind me. The windmill is getting blurred, but I can still feel it drawing circles endlessly. At this time, you will feel that the world is at your feet.
Standing on the huajialing beam, the big pier beam looks like a baby. No matter how the years change, it will always snuggle in its mother's arms. Rape flower is like a flower dress that God gave her, with golden eyes. ......
Youlai, Panicum miliaceum of Yuntai family, likes warm, cold and drought. In the spring of March, when you get on the eastbound train and wander in the North China Plain or on both sides of the Yangtze River, the fragrance of oil flowers is everywhere. People seem to understand that it is as delicate as a girl raised in a boudoir and as enchanting as a willow when there is wind. Only the Jiangnan water town can make its beauty more eye-catching.
In fact, the growth of rapeseed is as long as the history of Chinese civilization.
The ancestors of rape first lived on the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau, which is called the roof of the world. Cold and drought are the most prominent features here. This wild plant, like Yuanmou 8,000 years ago, interpreted its life as slowly as human history. Whether it is the snow-capped Kayan Kunlun Mountain or the arid and barren loess high slope, as long as the wind energy goes far, it can go far. When human ancestors picked wild fruits from trees and couldn't wrap their stomachs, the smell of rape flowers lured them, just like snakes in Greek mythology lured Adam and Eve, which allowed human life to continue. Later, it was humans who brought its seeds to the lower reaches of the Yellow River and the Yangtze River, and it was today's endless golden color.
Without Cai Wenji's mistake in Chen Hu, there would be no world masterpiece "Eighteen Beats of Hu Jia", and there is no evidence to prove when rape flowers drifted across the south of the Yangtze River. There have been several amazing unification situations in the history of China, and there have been countless waves of northerners going south. All these factors can be favorable opportunities for rapeseed to move eastward or southward. In any case, it can create a miracle like Cai Wenji. Cai Wenji lived in Hutian Ranch for 12 years, and planted two seeds with half Han descent on the vast grassland, which made outstanding contributions to the sinicization of Hu people. Therefore, Cai Wenji's fame is not only "eighteen beats of Hu Jia". After hundreds of years of nostalgia for the rape flowers along the Luohe River and Qinhuai River, she came back and buried her roots in the Loess Plateau. The rivers and mountains may change, but not one's essential nature You see, it is still tenacious and thriving. ...
The loess comes from Siberia, and only the Rocky Mountain below has never changed. Historically, it was a place where Hu and Han lived together. No one dares to admit that he is Hu, but no one dares to deny that he is not Hu.
Rape also has an individual named Hu Cai. ...
When rape blossoms are not in bloom, just like when a girl is unmarried, her body is full, full and flowing. Pick a few to dozens of slices, fry them in linseed oil, put them on a plate and lie in the snow like jade, and taste the meat in March. ...
Appreciation of landscape prose: dusk in hometown
I am close to my hometown and have a strong sense of wandering. I walked through thousands of waters in Qian Shan and experienced many vicissitudes. I won't change the feeling tied in my heart. It is one of the most beautiful things in everyone's memory. Its name is hometown.
Hometown is not a lofty mountain, not a river stream, not a deceptive ridge, but a bright moon and a beautiful sea ... Hometown is a familiar grass and trees, and every grass and tree is an indispensable part of hometown. One of the most unforgettable is the dusk in my hometown. As the sun sets in Western jackdaw, the leaves rustle, which is always unforgettable, lingering in my mind for a long time like a flood.
The setting sun is fading away, only the sunset glow is still tirelessly rendering the sky, and the canopy in the west has been occupied by a large piece of gold. The sunset at this time is not like the red sun in the morning, not like the dazzling light at noon, but more like an old man who has experienced vicissitudes, profound wisdom and bloomed all his life. Bright but not dazzling, as if seeing through everything, quietly listening to your story, no matter whether you are successful or frustrated, will give you a smile and appease your impetuous heart.
Indeed, the beauty of the sunset in my hometown is not only the splendor of the afterglow, but also the warmth of the wandering soul.
Not to mention to see the sun, for all his glory, even the swallows flying low and the night breeze blowing gently are worth remembering.
In the endless sky, blue and purple occupy most of it, and Hawking's flickering voice is the most likely to evoke childhood memories. Although many things have passed away with years of encouragement, the voice of the past is the voice that wanderers are most familiar with and go deep into their souls.
There is no roar of car whistle, only cattle and sheep coming back with farmers. The dusk in my hometown is leisurely, and the farmers who rest in the sunset and the quiet night are doomed to lose the irritability of the city. Similarly, probably because of this simple environment, the wanderers who are running around outside have more thoughts about home. The night without neon is not necessarily monotonous. The sunset in my hometown is as beautiful as the stars and moons in my hometown.
Swallows who eat food back and forth still sing year after year. Although swallows have changed year after year, they may not be the swallows I have seen, but they are familiar. I would rather treat them as former guests. Thousands of miles away, it is still an ordinary swallow, and it is affectionate and leisurely, crossing the wind and rain and returning to its hometown. It is the hometown it misses, and it is the hometown that wanderers miss.
The evening breeze rises again, blowing through the leaves and blackening the sky. At this moment, the western hills are frozen and become the silhouette of my hometown.