It is a wonderful thing to enjoy flowers in Huacheng. I have been thinking about my relationship with Guangzhou. Half a year ago, I quit my job, studied English in Nanchang for half a year, and applied for a postgraduate degree in South China Normal University. Now, I rented out the fence of South China Normal University and sat on the balcony on the fourth floor, basking in the sun and drinking tea. In front of us is an empty sports field, a red round plastic track, and green grass on the football field, which makes people think. Near dusk, more and more runners converge into a flowing river, heading for an endless destination. I've always liked sports, and I've always been a bystander.
The bystander has the leisure of the bystander, and the performer has the brilliance of the performer. In Guangzhou, I have a quiet room of my own, from which I can inhabit wandering souls.
Life has lost too much weight after all the busyness. In the excitement of the New Year, I drank again and again, and alcohol filled all my days. The back of youth has gradually drifted away, and the enthusiasm for breaking through has made me stumble. A person who loses everything is not easy to get drunk. In alcohol, I may have forgotten some familiar China ancient classics, Tang poetry and Song poetry, and English words I once recited at dusk. I have always been worried about the loss of these things, which seems to add a vicissitudes of life. Wine is as tasteful as life. In Guangzhou, I learned to drink beer and red wine gracefully. All the homesickness rippled in the cup, and the warm language was changed into beautiful words, as if it were shining. Gradually, I have begun to delete unhealthy chapters in my life, such as wine, and find the home and destination of my soul again. In spring, there is no audience. In spring, let me use up my last thoughts, put on my last clothes, wake up from countless waits and come back from distant hopes. I can't sleep in spring.
The spring in Guangzhou is intoxicating, and I am beginning to sprout.
I miss the spring in my hometown and the bustling world, so I choose to live in a lonely heart.
In a secluded corner of Guangzhou, I quietly wait on the edge of thinking and miss the spring in my hometown.
I left my hometown because of a nostalgia. The search by day and night enriched me. On idle days, holding hands with your left hand is like stroking the spring in your hometown. I calmly drank the flavor of my hometown, the fragrance floating in the teacup and the warm temperature made poetry begin to boil. Green images are vividly in my mind, chasing the rural areas of Shan Ye in my memory. I miss everything related to my hometown, poetry and life. I miss the snow covering our roof. In the upper reaches of spring, my mother is washing radishes by the stream. She always wants to live a full life. Through my mother's rickety figure, I saw that the sky was not open, it was only a little wider than our village. When the firewood is burned out in winter, it's time to cook in spring. Just like my pen tip, I always think about the speed of peach blossom at home, how to catch up with the swallows flying in the sky, how to quickly occupy the layout of this season, and let flowers become the theme of spring from now on. The smoke in my hometown may bend in the wind and I can't correct it. No matter how hard I pricked up my ears, I couldn't hear the spring in my hometown. Her silence is thousands of miles away from me.
Whose hand weaves the spring in my hometown? Who told me to go and keep looking back Beauty is love hidden in the heart, and love is beauty hidden in the heart. A person is actually a big bottle, full of love and care, just a hard secular, let us always be careful, for fear of missing it, such damage is worse than a drought. A person is actually a big bottle, which contains water, food and days. If there is anything else, it must be the way we get up in the morning sun and push open the door, and our peace in the sunset. Our hearts are tied together, and we keep our mouths shut. We have to bear such a heavy body all our lives. Spring is like a river, coming from far away, going far away, coming and going, everything seems to be reincarnation. It is only fate, but also the piety of the soul. The most beautiful spring is in my hometown. The most beautiful spring is a 30-year-old man who grabs the tail of spring and misses it again and again. The most beautiful life is so ordinary that we have to walk in this world as slowly as possible.
I often think that the wind has no home. It is better to run with the wind than to live by water. The mind is like a boat, anchored on the calm water and gradually disappearing into the twilight. "Spring tides bring rain late and come in a hurry", which love brings me thoughts tonight? Spring in my hometown, it must be smiling.
It is spring outside the window. Every spring, I move my desk to the corner near the window. In this way, through the window, I can see large tracts of Chinese milk vetch in the field, listening to the eager night filled with frolicking frog drums. I think this is a very meaningful thing. My reading and writing are poetic.
I have been looking for spring, from books, from life, from the atmosphere I created. I try to embroider spring into the picture of life, like an unbeaten flower. This beautiful mistake bewitched me, so I chose to stick to it, stick to this country, stick to this hut, and weave a gorgeous halo for my life.
Life is our last effort on earth. This determines that my aesthetic relationship with reality is just a beautiful flower. On a sunny day, there is another kind of flower in the study through the open window. The spring rain continues, and I am afraid that this naughty elf will get my beloved book wet. I closed the window to keep the rain out. The sound of roof water hitting the soil keeps coming, pecking away the noise of this season bit by bit and arousing the tranquility of this season bit by bit. In the wind and rain, it was quiet. At night, the falling rain drenches the frog's ups and downs, and I am always a little scared. In this warm and cold season, the ruthless rain will douse the passionate frog, as the Tang poem said, "The strange frog rests for one night, and the east wind will be cold for ten days." However, my worry is unnecessary. The spring of 2 1 century is probably warmer than that of thousands of years ago. The development of the times is amazing, the temperature is getting higher and higher, and there are fewer and fewer poems. Chunyu is good at reading, but I think beauty has reached the highest level in loneliness. This is really because there is a spring in my heart.
In spring, everything is busy starting. Butterflies are flying, bees are pollinating, and swallows come from another world for an inseparable date. Just like such a mobile phone message, "Birds fall in love, ants live together, butterflies divorce, and caterpillars remarry. What are you waiting for? " Flowers are blooming, trees are blooming, and running water rushes to the distance with a more cheerful melody. The peasant brothers have sown hope for the next year.
In spring, there is no audience. In spring, deep sleep is death.
Sitting by the window, I will sing the songs in my heart. A man who is about to turn 30 will quietly write a poem about spring.