Stroking the old fence mottled by years is like listening to a legendary or ordinary story. If it coincides with the flowering period, a touch of bright color condensed from the wall seems to have come through the Millennium, and the ancient walls are hedged, with faint flowers and feelings.
The sunshine here is full of fortitude and gentle brilliance. She gently brushed away the fog of pearl ash and wrapped Jiangnan with dim light, adding a layer of haze to the blurred Jiangnan. Sleeping peacefully in such gentle sunshine, time becomes vague and gentle, and it doesn't hurt.
Some people say that the rivers in the south of the Yangtze River are calligraphy, the riverbed is rice paper, the boat is grass, and the shore bridge is a picture frame. In fact, the whole south of the Yangtze River should be a wet gouache, with graceful and shallow rivers, full of worries about rain and fog, and the smoke of thousands of willows, all at arm's length and graceful.
Let's go boating. On the river, the girl's eyes are as bright as paint, and the opening is Wu Nong's soft language. Rippling ripples, like sitting at the gate of the yard when I was a child, my father spit out smoke rings. Years of dusty memories meet you unexpectedly, and the smile of forgiving time reappears on your face. I'm afraid you and your memories have never been so tacit. You don't have to tell the girl where to go, just use this gentle time to slowly recall and walk through this temporary paradise, just like walking through your fingers or a cell that is gradually becoming an hourglass.
The wind in the south of the Yangtze River should be close and sleepy, like a child's half-open eyes. Slightly back and forth, the willow is the wind, the rain and fog are the wind, the eaves passing by are the wind, and the feelings we meet are the wind, the wind or the wind. Sometimes it is full of emotions, complaining in a low voice, listening to the sound of the wind and hearing memories coming. Embrace the past one by one, beautiful and painful. At this moment, in the wind of Jiangnan, everything is just the past. You can think about the future gently. Ten miles of flowers bloom and the wind is long, only missing shines with white light. It can also be in front of us, the wind blows gently, the clouds move quietly, and the days pass gently, such as the wind without trace, the willow without trace, the rain without trace, and the eaves with affection.
Stay in any hotel, but you must have a window. Through it, we can see a gentle woman, dressed in plain cotton-padded clothes, embroidering those youthful and ignorant feelings into a plain and graceful time with flying needles, stopping occasionally, and most importantly, bowing her head gently and being overwhelmed by the cool breeze. You can see the silent teenager holding a fleeting poem with picturesque eyes and a smile on his cheek. Gently caress their youth like brocade, and every word is like lovers. Through it, you can also see the old woman starched by the river. Her silvery hair and dense wisdom are her rings. When she raised her hand and touched her forehead, there was no vicissitudes, only the tranquility of gentle time. We can see that some literati are frustrated, and it is empty to live a drunken life in the famous gentle town.
Look at the ancestral temple, look at the memorial arch, look at Zhouzhuang, look at the water town, and see that life has returned to the original silence. We don't talk about life, bridge water, no flow, life, but.
The mature half-day dusk is as thin as cicada's wings and as thick as a bell, waiting for the sunset, waiting for time, waiting for some unsaid words to be collected. This is the dusk in the south of the Yangtze River, waiting for a little sunset, and everything is hazy and melancholy. If you travel with the sunset, you may meet a girl as sad as a lilac.
The night passed inch by inch in the evening waiting, and the scenery has been faint so far. The faint light has obvious warmth, and at this time, I will probably dream of a home, three people, talking softly or quarreling. The night should be cold, there should be moonlight, as gentle as a lover, and a vigil should be held for the sleeping Jiangnan. Thin and shallow Yin Hui, the stars are blurred, and everything is still elegant. Then the moonlight will stay up all night, guarding Jiangnan and my dream.
If you fall asleep at night, it's just a dream in Jiangnan. My brushwork is just a passer-by gesture. I have never set foot in Jiangnan, and I don't want to scribble on the tranquility there. This is my dream hometown, but I have never stayed in my imagination many times. She guards my emotional obscurity and burnout, and every time I want to write about her, there is a warmth like a lover. Although, although I am not a returnee, I just come and go like a passer-by.
If the wind is slow and the moon is bright, the dream is in the south of the Yangtze River, and the flowers in the dream fall all over the body. ——? Excerpted from the network