It is very cold in winter. Because of this penetration, infiltration and dripping freezing, the life of nature seems to have declared a periodic end, and those animals and plants that are old or dead or withered or defeated or sleeping or hiding have begun a long and quiet new life cycle recovery. They die without dying, retreat without losing, and fail without dying. In cold, freezing, windy and snowy days, they show the most essential and excellent part of life, the simplicity of ancient nature and the original rhythm of life, and also show the flash and hardship, drowsiness and chic of life itself in the cold winter. They are simple and not flashy, relaxed and not heavy, quiet and not noisy. In the winter full of primitive meaning and wild scenes, they calmly adjust their pace and look forward to a new life.
The natural and frozen winter in the north has become the beauty of Qin Jin, and a new life is gestating in its mother's womb. Creep is not only the silence of women, but also the movement of men; It is not only the shape of an embryo, but also the beginning of germination; Instead of retreating from the original road in a straight line, it is a circular route that takes retreat as progress and begins at the end. In a sense, the most meaningful thing about the annual renewal of nature begins in winter, and the first contribution is to push this frozen word. Freezing is the nourishment of life, the ubiquitous creator and the great hero to create a new world. Kunlun Mountain, Qilian Mountain, Zhong Nanshan Mountain and Changbai Mountain stand like wild horses in the north, which not only have their magnificent verve, but also have the wonders of their snow-covered peaks all year round. Their lives also need frozen nutrition to nourish them. Otherwise, these huge lives will be weakened by poverty and ice and snow. I even think that the life that disappears in winter in the north, even a leaf or a blade of grass, cannot be underestimated. It is the scattered leaves, the dead leaves of thousands of dedicated grasses, which keep the grass alive and give the whole hardened land hope of recovery. Although the bare leaves and dark branches are lifeless on the surface, the internal life movement has not stopped. In particular, the roots of trees breathe quietly under hardened frozen soil every day, sucking the "milk" of the earth bit by bit, slowly accumulating the strength to resist the cold and continue to grow in the next year. Even the bud scales on the branches are sprouting. They are seeds with strong vitality, and they are the battlefronts that stand in rows waiting for war.
Looking at the nature in the northern winter, the bare trees and snowflakes flying all over the sky in Wan Li remind me of Xingtian, which dances with the chest as its eyes and the navel as its mouth, and reminds me of Jingwei birds that throw stones into the sea every day; I think of Mao Zedong, who loves snow, and the legend and great achievements of his life. Through the vast and magnificent snowfield, I can still hear the footsteps of our ancestors and vaguely see Pangu's huge figure.
Then, what kind of soul should we inject into our lives in the nature of northern winter?
3. "China in Tang Poetry" Wu Kexin
Perhaps, in each of us, there is a little Tang Dynasty hidden in our hearts. So, today, the Tang suit is back in our wardrobe, and the Chinese knot is tied on our skirts and shirts again. The songs of the Tang Dynasty are wrapped in the shell of rock and roll, echoing in our ears again and again ... There are 110,000 reasons to love China. Choose the most romantic reason to love her-Tang poetry was born in the Tang Dynasty, which was born in China, and China has unique Tang poetry in the world. I love Tang poetry, and I love China even more.
Standing on the long river of the century, looking at the shepherd boy's finger, pointing to an eternal poetic prosperity. The Tang dynasty was a song and dance dynasty, and it was a Tang dynasty with clothes and feathers. The books of Tang poetry are full of soul and eternity, and the words of Tang poetry are full of words and pens are full of flowers. Whether it's the tragic feelings of a strong man in the battlefield who never returns to his husband, or the feelings of a lady in a boudoir who misses her daughter to spend the autumn moon, the beauty of Tang poetry is absolutely beautiful and lasting, whether it hurts people's hearts, whether it has gone through the sea, whether it is inspiring or bleak.
Reading three hundred Tang poems and then reading one is like pulling out a rusty Gu Jian. In the cold light and darkness, there is a soul shining with an immortal hero who respects success or failure: fearless in life and death, swallowing mountains and rivers, dreaming of iron horses, roaring back and forth in the sky … all lost in the rolling waves. What a heroic Tang poem! Reading a Tang poem is like opening an ancient rouge box, and in the dense fragrance, a sigh of unfortunate beauty rises. I don't know about Jun Jun, but it's miserable and cold. Beauty curtain, tears look at flowers, how many lonely spring skirts are dyed red with pink tears! What a beautiful Tang poem! Shallow talk, wipe tears and cover up the volume.
The bells of Hanshan Temple linger, spreading their wings across time and space, flying over the world of mortals, like wild geese singing like flutes, and the sound is stirring. Things have changed, and the years are impermanent. How many emperors have changed! Tang Zong Song Zu, throwing halberds and sinking sand, powder 3 thousand, sighing idle. Wealth and fame are fleeting, and the king dominates the Ganges and disappears. Only the bells of Hanshan Temple outside Gusu City are still repeating the eternal twilight. Jiang Feng's fishing in the Tang Dynasty lingered forever in the poems of the next generation, beating the sleepless nights on earth.
Moonlight in the Tang Dynasty. I don't know who first saw the moon on a moonlit night by the river. Since then, thousands of miles have been trickling to illuminate the loneliness of people who never sleep every night. The moon is the hometown of wanderers, so bright a gleam on the foot of my bed is always the frost and dew of homesickness, and the moon is the concern of homesick women. In the sound of smashing clothes, the brightness is decreasing every night. The moon is a lonely man's drinking friend, wandering around with my shadow, making the three of us toasters.
The wine in the Tang Dynasty was very strong. The poet has been attracted to raise a glass to drown his sorrows. He has changed his money for wine, but he wants to get drunk. Three glasses of wine can lead to Confucianism, and it is natural for Taoism to drink it all in one game. How many times can a person be intoxicated in his life? The breeze pours wine into the river and looks at the sword when drunk. When you are drunk, you forget the honor and disgrace of the world, and the world is cold. At present, the wine is strong, and I am full of pride if I come to a pot of spirits.
The pain of parting in the Tang Dynasty. Baqiao River is gurgling, and willow shadows keep flowing. Mulan's canoe has been urged to leave her sorrow, which caused an autumn rain last night and increased the endless water flow. What can't be kept after the wicker is broken is the footsteps of Iraqis, and what can't be kept after the clothes are broken, as well as the skirts of years. A farewell song, two lines of tears, Xiang Jun Xiaoxiang and me Qin Xiang. It is said that there are people in the west who go out of Yangguan for no reason. Where can I meet you again?
Poets in the Tang Dynasty were noble. A pot of wine, a sword, a waning moon. Dancing and drinking all the way Dance a sword in the prosperous Tang Dynasty and drink a fallen fairy in the poetry circle. Drunk in Chang 'an, the son of heaven is hard to find, not a whitewash, not a hollow reputation. Laugh and sigh proudly, 90,000 Li Fengpeng is a positive move. The sea laughed and sent boats to travel all over the rivers and mountains of the old country. How can you ruin your eyebrows in life?
In the Tang Dynasty, red was quite unlucky. On the blade, the long sleeves are wide and comfortable, the dance is light and graceful, and the clouds are full of flowers and tears. Everyone envies riding a princess and laughing in the world of mortals. Who pities Maweipo for hiding the wind with a touch of loess? Love is unreliable, and color is unreliable. I have been charming all my life, and I don't know who will give up accepting it. In the hall of eternal life, there is a long life and death, and this hatred is endless.
Ten thousand volumes disappear forever from ancient times to modern times, and a window fades to send the fleeting time. Three hundred poems have been deposited in the wind for thousands of years. Make a cup of chrysanthemum tea, hold a roll of "300 Tang Poems", and listen to the talk of the late rain. In the middle of the night, the wind blew through the curtains outside the window, and I suddenly forgot what night it was.
Tang is in the body, Tang poetry is in the hand, and the motherland is in the heart. 4. Immortal Insomnia Zhang Xiaofeng He failed the list! 1200 years ago. However, the list is big and long, but there is no his name. Ah! Unexpectedly, his name "Zhang Ji" cannot be accommodated alone.
The names of the people who took the exam are all written on the list, which is known all over the world. Strangely, in his feeling, it is well known that he failed in the exam, which made him feel ashamed and depressed.
Leave Beijing! After negotiating the price, he set foot on the boat. This is not the expected plot. There might have been an affair of arranging flowers and stepping on the street, and there was the glory of returning home in splendor. However, after ten years of cold window, although he was a thorn in his side, he didn't have a corner seat at Qionglin banquet.
The ship is sailing like the wind.
Jiang Feng is like a fire, holding a cold flame on the shore. At dusk, the ship arrived in Suzhou. However, this beautiful ancient city is just another place that touches Zhang's sad feelings.
If there is anything to do during the day, for a scholar, it is reading! What about at night? You should go to bed at night to keep your mental state and watch it the next day. However, tonight is a sad night. Tonight, in a foreign land, by the river, in the season of autumn cold and high geese, allow a down-and-out taxi to indulge his sadness. The river can hold the tears of all unfortunate people indefinitely.
On such a night, I sat cruelly, listening to the sound of my heart being bitten by something and disappearing one by one. And look at your life like a residual lamp in a strong wind. All your strength is spent on resistance, the oil is running out, and the small fire may go out all the time. However, what is hateful is that it has never been gorgeous and brilliant in its life!
The river slept, the boat slept, the boatman slept, and the people on the shore slept. Only he, Zhang Ji, can't sleep. The deeper the night, the more awake I am, awake like a dead tree with fallen leaves, like an empty nest beam where I went.
At first, sleep rejected him. Let nature take its course, haven't you been rejected everywhere in your life? ) Then, he got angry. Well, if you don't sleep, you won't sleep If you wake up all night, you will simply take a thorough look at yourself. Why not?
The moon is slanting to the west, looking listless. There is a crow, rough and hoarse. It is a crow. The moon was darkened by its frequent cries. On the river bank, I think it's frost grass. The stars in the night sky are like clear frost, and the grains are desolate.
In the corner of his beard and brow, he felt as if he were cold and gloomy, waiting for the frosty flowers in early autumn to decorate his bleak young face.
Fishing and fire on the river two three, what are they doing? Fishing, right, or shrimp? Do they also cast nets? Times are hard! Even a clever fisherman can't help jumping into the storm, can't he? However, hard work is also a kind of happiness! Tonight, the moon is bright, the frost is cool, the people at ease are sleeping, and the people at work go to work. Only I, Zhang Ji, don't accept anything. I have neither the right to work nor the right to sleep. ...
The bell rang, the strange late-night bell of Hanshan Temple. Generally, drums and morning bells are ringing in temples, and the "midnight bell" in Hanshan Temple is shaking the earth. The bell is near the water. For others, the sound is just the vague background music in their sleep. However, in him, one by one hit the heart, right in the middle. The bell is beautiful, but does it hurt? He couldn't sleep, so he pushed the pillow up and wrote the word "a night-mooring near maple bridge" in the dark. Then, just copy the remaining 28 words. I say "copy" because those 28 words stand out in his mind, just like the black words on the white wall:
Crows fell on the moon, crowed coldly, slept on maple trees, and slept in fishing lanes by the river. In the lonely Hanshan Temple outside Suzhou, the bell that rang in the middle of the night reached the passenger ship.
Thank God, if there were no last Zhang Ji, there would be a good poem missing in the history of poetry, and no one would speak for us in a certain mood.
1200 years later, who is the champion on that long list (that is, the paper gold list that Zhang Ji can't squeeze in)? Ha! No matter who he is. The name that is really remembered is "Zhang Ji, a laggard". Will anyone remember the grand parade of the champion in red? Don't! We only remember the frustrated man on the autumn night passenger ship and his immortal insomnia.