Listen to the cold rain
After the shock, the cold in spring intensified. First, the material is steep, and then the rainy season begins, sometimes dripping, sometimes wet, even in the dream, it seems to have an umbrella. With an umbrella, you can avoid a cold rain and the whole rainy season. Even my thoughts are wet. Going home every day, it is a dream to walk into the rain and wind from Jinmen Street to Xiamen Street. It's sad to think of Taipei like this. This is a completely black-and-white movie. I think the whole history of China and China is nothing more than a black-and-white movie. It rained like this from beginning to end. I wonder if this feeling comes from antonioni. But that land was a long time ago. Twenty-five years, a quarter of a century, even if it rains, Qian Shan is full of water, and the umbrella is across Qian Shan. In twenty-five years, everything was broken, involving only climate and weather forecast, and a big cold current rolled in from that land. This indifference is shared with the ancient continent. It is also a comfort to the child not to jump into her arms and be swept by her skirt.
When I think so, I feel a little warm in the cold. In this way, he hopes that these narrow alleys will extend forever, and his thinking can also be extended, not from Jinmen Street to Xiamen Street, but from Jinmen to Xiamen. He is from Xiamen, at least in a broad sense. For twenty years, he has been living in Xiamen Street instead of Xiamen, which is a mockery and a comfort. But in a broad sense, he is also a Jiangnan native, a Changzhou native, a Nanjing native, a Chuanwaer, and a teenager in a broad sense. The apricot blossom and spring rain in the south of the Yangtze River was his boyhood. It will be clear in half a month. Antonioni's lens tossed and turned, tossed and turned. Residual water is like water, and the earth after heaven is like water. There are thousands of people from north to south. Is there porcelain in it? China, of course, will always be China. It's just that the apricot blossom and spring rain are gone, the shepherd boy no longer gives directions, the sword gate is drizzling, and the dust in Weicheng is gone. However, where is the land he dreams of day and night?
In the headlines of the newspaper? Or is it a rumor in Hong Kong? Or Fu Cong's black keys white key Ma Sicong's jump bow plucking strings? Or is it the hope of antonioni's mirror-ending horse week? Or, in the walls and glass cabinets of the Palace Museum, in the rhyme of Taibai Dongpo in the sound of gongs and drums in Beijing Opera?
Apricot flowers and spring rain in the south of the Yangtze River. Liuge, maybe that piece of soil is in it. Whether it is Chixian, Shenzhou or China, it is changing. As long as Cang Xie's inspiration persists, his beautiful Chinese will not be old, and the centripetal force like a magnet will inevitably grow. Because a square character is a world. At the beginning, there were words, so the memories and hopes of his ancestors were pinned in the hearts of Han people. For example, write a word "rain" out of thin air, dribs and drabs, torrential rain, all love and rain will be in it. What English, Japanese and Russian can satisfy this visual beauty? Jin Mu, like fire and water, has become the world by itself. When you enter the "Rain" Department, the ancient China is ever-changing, and you will notice that beautiful frost, snow, clouds and terrible thunder and hail only show God's good temper and bad temper, and the Meteorological Observatory takes pains to read an encyclopedia that laymen can't understand.
Listen, the cold rain. Look at that cold rain. Smell it, cold rain, lick it, cold rain. Rain fell on his umbrella, raincoats fell on the umbrellas of millions of people in this city, antennas fell on houses, and ships landed on the breakwater channel of Keelung Port. Rain is a woman and should be the most emotional. Rain is empty and psychedelic. Smell it carefully, it is refreshing and refreshing, and there is a little mint fragrance. When it is strong, it gives off the peculiar smell of grass and wood after bathing. Maybe it smells like earthworms and snails. After all, it is an impact. Maybe it's life on the ground and underground, maybe the memory of ancient China is stupid and crawling, maybe it's the subconscious and dreams of plants, and there is something fishy about it.
When I went to America for the third time, I lived in the mountains of Denver for two years. The western United States is mountainous and desert, and it is dry for thousands of miles. The sky is as blue as Anglo-Saxon eyes, the ground is as red as Indian skin, and clouds are rare. There are few clouds and fog on the dazzling snow peaks in the Loki Mountains. One is high, the other is dry, and the third is above the forest line, and the cedar has stopped. "Clouds Wangfu interest? Free and easy in my chest "or" Yellow Rain in Shang Lue "in China's poems is an ugly landscape in the Rocky Mountains. The victory of the Rocky Mountains lies in stones and snow. Those jagged rocks overlap and depend on each other, creating a thrilling sculpture exhibition for the sun and wind thousands of miles away. White and illusory snow, cold and clear, endless momentum makes people feel hard to breathe, cold and sour. However, to appreciate the state of "clouds, when I look back, just behind me, fog, when I entered them, it was gone", you still have to come to China. The humidity in Taiwan Province Province is very high, which is the most ambiguous. I stayed at the head of the stream for two nights. The trees were fragrant and the cold hit my elbow at night. I slept like a fairy, resting on overlapping mountain shadows and endless rest. It rained all night in the mountains and woke up the next morning. In the primitive silence where the rising sun did not rise, I ventured into the secret of the forest, walked all the way up the mountain through the broken branches on the ground and the trickling rain, facing the cold all night. The mountain at the head of the stream is dense with trees and dense fog. The lush water vapor rises from the bottom of the Ran Ran, sometimes thick and sometimes light, and the transpiration changes. It is almost impossible to see the hidden peaks and valleys just from the open space where the fog breaks through the clouds. Go up the mountain at least twice, and you can only play hide-and-seek with Xitoufeng in the white. Back in Taipei, the world asked me, except for smiling and pretending to be mysterious, the actual impression was nothing more than nothing. The scenery of China, with clouds, smoke, mountains and water, gives people the charm of Song painting. The world may be Zhao's, but the landscape is rice. But after all, it's hard to say who writes like China's landscape or China's Song Like painting.
Rain is not only audible and amiable, but also audible. Listen to the cold rain. Listening to the rain, as long as it is not a rock-breaking typhoon and rainstorm, will always be an aesthetic feeling of hearing. Autumn in the mainland, whether it is raindrops, phoenix trees or showers hitting lotus leaves, always sounds a little bleak, sad and sad. Memories on the island today add a layer of sadness, and you lose a lot of pride and chivalry. I'm afraid you can't stand repeated blows. A dozen teenagers are dizzy from listening to the rain. Listening to the rain in middle age, the river in the boat is wide and the clouds are low. More than thirty bald monks listened to the rain, which was the pain of Song's death and the life of a sensitive soul: upstairs, by the river, in the temple, there were cold beads of rain. Ten years ago, he lost himself in a heartbreaking ghost rain Rain, a drop of wet soul, is calling outside the window.
Rain hits trees and tiles, and the rhythm is crisp and audible. Especially the clang on the roof tiles, belongs to China's ancient music. Wang Yucheng is like a rafter in Huanggang. It is said that living in a bamboo building, the sound of rain is like a waterfall, the sound of dense snow is louder than the sound of broken jade, and the singing effect of * * * is particularly good, regardless of drums, poems, chess and pots. Isn't it like living in a bamboo tube? I'm afraid any fragile sound will be doubled and exaggerated, but it will make the ears allergic.
Rainy roof tiles, with wet streamers, are gloomy and gentle, with dim light and dark backlight, which is a low comfort to vision. As for the rain hitting thousands of scaly tiles, from far and near, it is gentle and heavy, with a trickle flowing down the tile trough and eaves. All kinds of tapping and sliding sounds are closely woven into a net, and whose fingers are massaging the helix. "It's raining", the gentle grey beauty came, and her cold hands flicked countless black keys grey keys on the roof, turning noon into dusk.
On the ancient continent, thousands of families are like this. More than 20 years ago, when I first came to this island, so did the Japanese-style tile houses. First, it was dark, the city was shrouded in huge frosted glass, and the shadows were elongated and deepened indoors. Then the cool water filled the space, and the wind whirled from every corner, feeling that the heavy breathing on every roof was shrouded in gray clouds. It's raining, and the lightest percussion is beating the city. Broad roofs, far and near, knock on them one by one. Guqin, with its fine and dense rhythm, has its own softness and kindness in monotony. It's like a fantasy. If you were in the cradle when you were a child, a familiar nursery rhyme wobbled and your mother sang nasally and guttural. In Zeguo Water Town in the south of the Yangtze River, a large basket of green mulberry leaves was eaten by hundreds of silkworms and chewed with mouthparts and mouthparts. Rain is coming, tiles say so, tiles say 100 billion tiles say, play softly and play hard, knock slowly and knock hard, take a break and knock a rainy season, improvise from waking to Qingming, coldly play elegies on scattered graves and sing 100 billion tiles.
Old-fashioned houses listen to the sound of rain in April, and it rains day and night in Huang Meiyu, and the ten-day month stretches. Wet sticky moss has been invading the root of the tongue and the bottom of my heart from the stone steps In July, listening to the typhoon and rain beating blindly on the ancient roof all night, thousands of layers of boiling heat waves on the seabed were held hostage by strong winds, overturning the whole Pacific Ocean just to press heavily on his low eaves, and the whole sea rushed over his scorpion shell. Otherwise, it will be a thunderstorm night, and the veil of white smoke is full of drums. shanghai dawn, the powerful electric pipa is uneasy, and the shock of playing roof tiles is about to begin. Otherwise, the oblique northwest rain is obliquely brushed on the window glass, and the whip hits the wide banana leaves on the wall. A cold wave came to my face, and autumn filled the old courtyard.
Listen to the rain in the old-fashioned old house, listen to the intermittent autumn rain in the spring rain, and listen to the cold rain from teenagers to middle age. Rain is a monotonous and lasting music, whether it is indoor music or outdoor music. Listen to indoor and outdoor, cold and cold, music. Rain is a music of memory. Listening to the cold rain, I think that it has rained all over the south of the Yangtze River. On bridges and boats, there are rice fields and frog ponds in Sichuan, which enrich the cooing of wet cuckoos under the Jialing River. Under the moist music of the tide, the rain falls on the lips of longing. Licking the cold rain.
Because rain is the most primitive percussion music, it starts from the other side of memory. Tile is the lowest musical instrument, and the gray gentleness covers the people who listen to the rain. The umbrella of music supports the tiles. But the apartment era is coming soon. Why did you suddenly grow taller in Taipei? Wa's music became a masterpiece. Ten thousand tiles are flying, and beautiful gray butterflies fly away one after another, flying into the memory of history. Now it's raining on concrete roofs and walls, a rainy season without rhythm. Trees have also been cut down, laurel, maple, willow and huge coconut in the sky, and there are no noisy leaves and flashing wet green light to meet the arrival of rain. In autumn, there are fewer birds chirping, frogs giggling and insects chirping. Taipei in the 1970s didn't need these, and one band after another was disbanded. If you want to hear the cock crow, you can only look for it in the rhyme of the Book of Songs. Now there is only one black-and-white film, black-and-white silent film.
Just as the carriage era has passed, so has the tricycle era. On one rainy night, the tarpaulin of a tricycle was hung up. On the way home, the world in the tent is too small, and she hides outside the jurisdiction of the police. The bigger the raincoat pocket, the better. He can hold a slender hand in one hand. The rainy season in Taiwan Province Province is so long that someone should invent a wide raincoat for two people. Everyone should wear one sleeve, and other parts don't need to be too harsh. No matter how developed the industry is, it seems that umbrellas can't be abandoned for a while. As long as it doesn't rain cats and dogs and the wind doesn't blow sideways, umbrellas in the rain still retain their classical charm. Let the raindrops knock on the black cloth umbrella or transparent plastic umbrella, turn the bone handle, and the raindrops splash in all directions, and the edge of the umbrella becomes a circle of cornices. Playing an umbrella with your girlfriend is a beautiful cooperation. It's best to be first love, a little excited and a little embarrassed. If you are at arm's length, it will rain harder. The real first love, I'm afraid, is so excited that I don't need an umbrella. I ran away hand in hand in the rain, giving young long hair and skin to the rain all over the sky, and then tasting the sweet rain on each other's lips and cheeks. But it must be very young and passionate, and it can only happen in French trendy movies.
Most umbrellas are not opened for dating. On the way to and from work, schools and schools, as well as food markets. Reality umbrella, gray Wednesday. Hold an umbrella. He listened to the cold rain hitting his umbrella. I wish it were colder, he thought. Just freeze the wet gray rain into dry white rain, and the hexagonal crystal will fall down in the windless air. When the man's beard and shoulders turned white, he stretched out his hand and fell down. For twenty-five years, I have not been blessed by the white rain in my hometown. Perhaps sending some frost is a disguised form of self-compensation. How many rainy seasons can a hero endure? Was his forehead cut from water rock or igneous rock? How thick is the moss in his heart? The rainy lane of Xiamen street has been walking for 20 years like a memory. A tileless apartment is waiting for him at the bottom of the lane, and a lamp is in the rain window upstairs, waiting for him to go back. Through meditation after dinner, I sort out the memories deep in my hair.
Dust is separated from the ocean. The old house is gone. Listen to the cold rain.
2. Yu Dafu's Autumn in the Old Capital is also a beautiful article.
Autumn, no matter where, is always good; However, the autumn in the north is particularly clear, quiet and sad. The reason why I have traveled thousands of miles from Hangzhou to Qingdao, and even from Qingdao to Peiping, is to enjoy this "autumn", the autumn flavor of this old capital.
Of course, there is autumn in Jiangnan, but the vegetation withers slowly, the air is humid, the sky is pale, and it is often rainy and windy; A person caught between Suzhou, Shanghai, Hangzhou, or Xiamen, Hong Kong and Guangzhou can only feel a little cool in the chaotic past. The taste, color, artistic conception and posture of autumn are always not enough to see, taste and enjoy. Autumn is not a famous flower, nor is it wine. Half-drunk state is not suitable for enjoying autumn.
It has been nearly ten years since autumn in the north. Every autumn in the south, I always think of the reed flowers in Taoranting, the willow shadows in Diaoyutai, the insects in Xishan, the jathyapple in Yuquan and the bells in Tanzhe Temple. Even if you don't go out in Beiping, you can rent a shabby house and live in the sea of people in the imperial city. Get up in the morning, make a bowl of strong tea and sit in the yard, you can see the high blue sky and hear the pigeons flying in the blue sky. From the bottom of Sophora japonica leaves, counting a ray of sunshine leaking to the east, or in the broken waist, facing the blue morning glory like morning glory, you can naturally feel the autumn breath. When it comes to morning glory, I think blue or white is the best, followed by purple and black, and pink is the lowest. It is best to have a few sparse and slender autumn grasses as a foil at the bottom of the morning glory.
The locust tree in the northland is also an ornament that can remind people of Qiu Lai. Like a flower, but not a flower, when you get up in the morning, it will be all over the floor. When you step on it, there is no sound, no smell, only a little tiny and soft touch. After sweeping the street in the shade, the silk pattern of the broom that fell on the dust looks exquisite and leisurely, and subconsciously feels a little lonely. The ancient dream that the world knows autumn is in these depths.
Qiu Chan's faint lingering sound is the characteristic of the northland. Because there are trees everywhere in Beiping and the houses are low, you can hear them everywhere. In the south, you have to go to the suburbs or mountains to hear it. Qiu Chan sounds like a cricket and a mouse in the north, just like a housefly that every family keeps at home.
There is also autumn rain. The autumn rain in the north seems to be stranger, more delicious and more decent than that in the south.
Under the gloomy sky, a cool breeze suddenly came and it began to rain. After a layer of rain, the clouds gradually rolled west. It is sunny again, and the sun comes out again. City idlers wearing thick green cloth and jackets bit their pipes and stood under the bridge after the rain. When they meet acquaintances, they will say with a sigh in a slow and leisurely tone:
"Oh, it's so cold-""This word is pronounced very high and dragged on for a long time. )
"Isn't it? A layer of autumn rain is cold! "
People in the north always read array words like stacked words, flat and even. This mispronounced rhyme is just right.
Fruit trees in the north are also a great spectacle in autumn. First of all, jujube trees, corners, walls, toilets and kitchen doors will all grow up. This kind of jujube, like olive and pigeon eggs, is light green and yellowish in the middle of small oval leaves. This is the peak of autumn. When the leaves of jujube trees fall and the dates are red, there will be a northwest wind. Convenience in the north is a dusty world. Only these dates, persimmons and grapes are ripe until the turn of July and August, which is a good day for clear autumn in the north, and it is a year.
Some critics say that China's bachelor of arts, especially poets, are full of decadent colors, so there are many words praising autumn in China's poems. But what about foreign poets? Although I don't read many foreign poems and essays, and I don't want to write bills for autumn poems and essays, if you look through the anthology of poets in Britain, Germany, France and Italy, or the anthology of poems and essays from various countries, you will always see many autumn praises and sad cries. In the long pastoral poems or poems of the four seasons by famous great poets, the part about autumn is always the most exciting and interesting. It serves to show that sentient animals and interesting human beings can always cause deep, distant, severe and bleak feelings for autumn. Not only poets, but also prisoners in prison. In autumn, I think I will definitely feel a deep affection. In autumn, there is no country, and there is no difference between race and class. In China, there is an idiom "Autumn Life" in the text, and there are very common readers such as Ouyang Zi's Autumn Sound and Su Dongpo's Red Cliff Fu. I feel that the relationship between literati in China and Qiuhe is particularly deep, but the strong flavor of autumn, especially that of China, must be felt in the north.
Autumn in the south, of course, also has its unique places, such as the bright moon on the Twenty-four Bridges, the autumn tide in Qiantang River, the cool fog in Putuo Mountain, the residual lotus in Lizhi Bay and so on. , but the color is not strong and the aftertaste is not lasting. Compared with Qiu Lai in the north, it's just yellow rice wine dried in vain, porridge steamed in white, perch white crab, yellow dog white camel.
Autumn, autumn in the north, if I can stay, I would like to fold two-thirds of my life for a third of it.
In August 1934, in Peiping.