My four seasons
Jason
Life is like four seasons.
In spring, I am in this land, holding my rusty plow tightly with my thin arms. Roots and stones buried deep in the soil tripped over my plow and consumed my strength. I'm sweating like a pig, my limbs are shaking, and I can't wait to lie on the newly reclaimed soil at once. But I know that while giving me life, I have no right to escape the responsibility entrusted to me. I don't need to ask why, and I don't need to think about whether there is any result. I shouldn't waste my time. Endlessly feeling the hardships of life should not be self-pity, but why fate is so bad that it has given me such a barren land. All I have to do is grit my teeth, bury my head and try my best to overwhelm my plow. I never expect someone to take the place, because in this world, everyone has a piece of land that must be cultivated by himself.
I sow with hope, which will never be more humble than that of any wise man.
Every day, I look at the land covered with my seeds and imagine that it will sprout, grow, blossom and bear fruit. Just like a pregnant mother, expecting her child to be born. I know that if people can expect something, they can go all out.
In summer, I stood on the ground because of drought, anxiously looking forward to the south wind and clouds with raindrops. How eager it is to wear, eager to wear! Looking forward to, looking forward to, there is a wind blowing, but the gust is a little stronger, blowing the clouds with raindrops and blowing them to another land. I hate that I can't jump into the sky at once, hold that cloud and beg it to give me a drop of rain. What wishful thinking is that! I finally understand that this delusion is like pulling out your hair and leaving the earth. So, I'm no longer delusional. I can only look for springs in this land where I live.
Without adequate preparation, I hurried on my way. Needless to say, I have experienced hardships. What I want to say is that I found the water source, only to find that I didn't bring a container for it. Just because of the simplification and overheating of the mind, how many times have there been completely avoidable painful mistakes-really, that's not impossible, and what really hurts is here: it's not impossible. I stamped my feet, I regretted it, I cried, and I wanted to tear myself to pieces. What's the use? Let's start over, but such a simple experience needs to be remembered at twice the cost of others. I shouldn't complain, there will be another hour left for me to express myself!
I watched helplessly, under the relentless hail, my newly grouted ear of grain, which was far from growing up, wobbled on the thin rice stalk, but was unable to break free from the land that raised it, but firmly locked it, never tasted the taste of maturity, and died like this.
I once opened my arms and was willing to press my whole body into a big screen to shield my seedlings from strong winds, heavy rains and hail ... If I was too kind, I would become confused and ignorant. Bad luck can only eliminate the weak, even if it blocks this disaster, it will sink in another disaster. And the strong will stay and continue to go their own way.
In autumn, I get the same harvest as others. Looking at my withered wheat, I feel a kind of sour and bitter joy in my heart. But I am not discouraged or discouraged because my grain has withered more than others. I held them in my hands and clung to my heart as if they were a brand-new self.
My rich and kind neighbor lamented that I got very little, but I laughed like a madman. In this laughter, I know that I have matured. I have a special measuring tool, which doesn't measure lines, but only feels. My neighbor doesn't know that life and grain are harvested at the same time. I have loved, hated, laughed, cried, tasted and experienced ... Only when I think about it carefully can I know that there are more sunny days than rainy days, and more gains than labor. As long as I live seriously and pay with a clear conscience. People will have no right to laugh at me as a fool who can't make ends meet, and there is no need to measure whether I am worth it by his yardstick.
In winter, in the dusk of life, is there nothing to do? Just looking at the falling snowflakes and desert fields through the window. Or count the western Western jackdaw on that bare branch? No, I can also add some firewood to the stove to keep the room warm; I will calmly examine myself: why did I fail, what did I miss, what did I owe others ... I hope that only others owe me, and I will feel at ease in the last days!
It is impossible to correct the mistakes that have become the past. There can be no more seasons in life. The next four seasons will belong to another new life.
But I still have things to do, and I will record them all. When people are bored, they might as well read to relieve boredom. People who hate me can also gloat and curse: what a suck! Smart people may say that this is unnecessary; A despicable person may elaborate a sword and cut me off one by one. But I believe most people will understand. They will judge everything I have done fairly.
In the dusk of life, it won't be me who laments and feels lonely!