Taohe River has converged a lot. It's ice and snow on the shore, and the wind is blowing from Bayan Kara. The sun is white and light, the sky is crisp, the clouds are thick and soft, and the grass seeds and clothes sleep.
The wilderness is gray. Every flower has a beautiful agreement; Every petal will wither, and there is sadness of missing.
In the autumn when paraquat is dying, pastoral songs are ethereal and distant. In the heavy snow, the grassland entered the real winter, and the cattle migrated to the winter pasture near the village.
The trees are quiet, there are pastures on the edge of the forest, and the snow occupies the sky. The heavy snow is rushing on the vast Yuan Ye in the north, and the road ahead and the way home are hidden in the empty sky.
The wind blows Gannan, gold and silver are everywhere, and vegetation is boundless. Weeping grass is as bright as a lamp, and the bones of cattle and sheep are as brittle as metal in the wind.
The wind blows Gannan, Wan Liyun is thick, and the north wind is crazy. The First Song of the Yellow River has an ice bridge three feet thick, which can be crossed by people who return to the snow at night.
Hometown of Ye Luo
After summer, the sun shines in my hometown and ultraviolet rays rustle. The hardened road in front of the old house is less dusty and muddy, less cattle and sheep dung and horseshoe prints, and less children's frolicking.
Grandma's vegetable floor is covered with black plastic film, and under the plastic film lie cabbage and potatoes, as well as high-yield seeds that grandma has never seen before.
The poplar planted by my father when he was a child was tall and old, with overlapping wood tumors. The young poplar has dried up, drying up a child's time and glory.
Think about it 20 years ago, think that the swaying youth has been wasted. After so many years, my hometown has become more and more strange. When I confide in the manuscript, I find that youth can't stay, sadness is still within reach, and only when I am not old can I move on with my dreams!
After the autumn wind, leaves fall to their hometown.
Poplar branches are scattered all over the floor, leaves are golden and bright, and short-lived leaves fall, which makes me sad and empty and makes me Lacrimosa. ...
Moonlight reflection
Midnight is very quiet, everything is silent, and the moonlight pours in the desolate ancient city of Bajiao.
The sound of hooves depresses people, and the night is as quiet as a dream.
The moonlight is bright, the stars are clearly extinguished, and the old things emerge in a snowy life.
Through the memory of leaves, winter is burning, snowflakes are shining in the fiery red, and only tears fall into the shallow world of mortals.
The moonlit night is cool, and the wind has the same tension and texture as silk. In winter on the Silk Road, the days are like desert snow, floating and sinking without language.
Gannan was blown by the wind, snow fell in the western regions, Khufu fell, the northwest wind was tight, and thousands of miles away, the ancient road of the deserted city was lost.
That night, the distant Samarkand moonlight reflected, Anxi ancient town could not keep a snowflake, and Chang 'an moonlight was still on the road?
The rest of my life is very short Who's dying?
The cold night is silent, the stars whisper, and only the heartbeat and the sound of Qiang flute beat in melancholy and loneliness. ...
Time flies like water.
Time is like water, the wind polishes the smooth and hard years, the grass curves are exquisite, and the night talk is fleeting.
The land nurtured by Taohe River is lush, pebbles are polished like running water, yesterday is like water, and the ink is withered. Running water took away my fireworks and endless melancholy.
Vilen was covered with thick snow and buried for many days. I miss not only the years, but also the Spring Festival I lost.
Time is long, the lost sheep are far away, the golden age has quietly passed, and gold and silver can't exchange time. Gold and silver have turned to dust and are worthless.
Time is like water, there is still a long way ahead, and the aging face is more calm and peaceful.
Flowers bloom and fade, and the fleeting time is shallow, and there is not much wheat on the Taohe River. Hunger is far away, the wheat awn is approaching the autumn festival, and golden times is scattered all over the floor.
After the heavy snow
After the heavy snow, winter grows old inch by inch, and I grow old minute by minute.
The wind was quiet and stopped on the Domaliang near the sky. The dusk is very quiet and far away, and the password of life is stripped all over the floor by the wind, so the memory can't be strung together. I can only watch them flutter in the wind.
The sacred five-color prayer flags are swaying in the wind. I know that Gu Zhuo's words on the scroll illuminated by butter lamps record the true history of the temple of Sodom.
The old man passing by told me that in this world, what the eyes see is not necessarily true. To believe in fate, it is important to feel it with your heart.
At the mountain pass, the wind is tight, the snow is falling, and the lonely valley is undulating.
It's getting darker and darker. In a flash, the snow in front of me is everywhere, and there is no retreat behind me. I can't find my former self. ...
Night comes.
How many times in April, how many times in the lush foliage, after thousands of years of decline and glory, those words that have taken root and sprouted are growing into elves in paintings and life on paper.
Leaves germinate, summer is impenetrable, leaves stand out in the sadness and brightness of late autumn, the last dead leaf is the last coat of the tree, and the cold wind whistling in late winter is waiting to wither.
At the beginning of August in the lunar calendar, the highland barley in mother's curved sickle was dismembered, and the broken highland barley was as real as where you are going.
Barley became grandfather's wine, and in the drop by drop of highland barley wine, barley danced with Dionysus's soul.
Raising the glass is life, putting it down is half asleep and half awake of love. Who covered up the bare emptiness of the land and the impetuous emptiness of the people?
When the herd returns home in the long wind, the mountains and rivers are boundless, the fields are empty, and the sunset is higher than memory and grass color.
When dusk comes, my amnesia is just like mine. I always feel that I can't remember some things, but I can't forget them cleanly. ...
There is a tall tree in the south.
Last night, peach blossoms bloomed like clouds in the fields covered by moonlight, and the hillside outside the quaint Sichuan plank road was lush. Spruce, birch, seabuckthorn and weeds thrived in their respective territories.
On a warm afternoon, Xiaoyun stated that the black jujube horse broke through the dawn and dusk, crossed the grassland and hills, and ran to the south before the vernal equinox.
Yes, it's south.
In the south of Chu Ci, you will have boundless magic and boundless melancholy.
Nanshan tree is so big and tall that you can't enjoy the cool under it.
The lotus pond with lotus leaves is full of beautiful rain and smiling peacefully. The first love like Xizhou Song is beyond my reach in my life.
At this time, the white clouds opened the afternoon sky, the mountains were blurred, the birch leaves were tender in a drop of spring rain, and the Taohe River was like a wisp of wind, decorating the long and fragrant dream of Qinghai-Tibet.
at that time
It was a long time ago, and there was no written record. ...
At that time, the fallen leaves like gold coins were beating day and night, and time was passing. There are no white clouds of sheep in Zhajialiang, and there are no people in Shuimo River. The dense green spruce in Mu Ye Canyon has grown for thousands of years, and the sound of logging is crisp in The Book of Songs. The vigorous sika deer is brightly colored, the red fox skin is gorgeous walking on the Yoko, and the lonely leopard is found in the seven-foot-thick snowstorm in Baishishan. ...
At that time, the rain washed away the honor and disgrace, and the days were turned over by the wind. In the great silence, the tribes in the mountains dozed off on the paper.
At that time, the night was like ink, and lonely singers walked from the Han Dynasty to the Tang Dynasty, stepping on the bells of the Ming and Qing Dynasties and coming from the primitive and mysterious Tubo, bearing the secrets of their hearts.
At that time, the wind blew Gannan, the frost and snow brushed, the moonlight under the water was salvaged, and the frost particles were as broken as silver. If you deliberately left, your sorrow would be endless. ...
At that time,
Beautiful, beautiful ...
-This group of prose poems won the bronze prize in the 202 1 "Window of Qinghai-Tibet, Lingcheng in Snow" National Prose Poetry Competition held by Prose Poetry magazine.
About the author:
Author Yang Yanping, pen name Sunny, male, Tibetan, born in1August, 999, Zhuoni, Gansu. 1996 started writing, and his poems and prose poems were selected into China Dictionary of Contemporary Poets, Splendid Rivers and Mountains of China Prose Poems in the Past Hundred Years, Selected Poems of Gannan in the Past 60 Years and Selected Poems of China, and published in Prose Poems, Prose Poetry World and Stars Prose Poems.