Cool. Good night
Put out all the lights and melt your body in the darkness. Open the window, put your elbows on the windowsill and look up at the stars.
Beginning of autumn today. Beginning of autumn is like a watershed, an invisible boundary. In midsummer, the night is quietly separated, and the half of the enthusiasm is gradually drifting away, and the coolness is getting closer and closer, like a calm river.
Overhead, the stars make up the sky in bits and pieces. Big, small, dark, bright and shallow flicker. Right in front, the biggest one, looked at me silently, coldly. There are near and far. I like a person's familiar eyes. After watching them for many years, still, no one can get close to anyone.
A clear night without the moon is a stage for the stars. It should be the soul of the star that twinkles. The silent souls in the sky appear at the same time at night, without interfering with each other, and always keep a certain distance. And keep your own independent space. This is a harmonious and quiet beauty.
Sitting, on this early autumn night. There are some books in front of the desk, and I can't understand any of them. Simply look at nothing, think nothing, sit quietly in the dark and pretend that you don't exist.
(2) Qiu Chan
After listening carefully for several days, I finally believed that the voice was cicada.
Cicada always appears in the afternoon. The afternoon sun, hanging high in the air, constantly creates a sultry and irritable atmosphere. What is baked is everything on the ground, living and lifeless.
Although beginning of autumn died, the heat was desperate, just like the last madness. Otherwise, how can it be called "autumn tiger"? In this afternoon, I walked on a quiet and spacious road to work. The brim of the hat is pressed very low, not only for shading, but also for not meeting anyone, especially acquaintances, and then being hypocritical and affectionate. In fact, due to the blocking of this road, few people are willing to choose to come here like me. The brim of the hat covers most of my thin face, which makes me feel safe. Walk with your head down.
Sparse but tall locust trees are planted on both sides of the road. Sparse shade, wide roads, and occasional passing trucks ferment, swell, expand and spread the burning breath. Quiet, burning breath.
Then the cicada sang. "Cheep-cheep-",a continuous, sharp voice hit the eardrum and echoed in the manic heat wave. Stop, look up, open the brim and look in the trees on both sides. Trying to find the cicada. However, every time is in vain. I can only see trees and cicadas, which are well hidden.
So I guess, this cicada in the northeast must be timid and extremely unwilling to meet people. No wonder they can't become a climate here, even their cries are monotonous and pitiful, lacking the momentum of one after another, echoing each other from afar.
Childhood is no stranger to cicadas. At that time, in my hometown, it was warmer in winter and hotter in summer. As soon as I entered the end of June, after breakfast, I kept screaming when I learned. The sound came from all directions, high-pitched, sharp, loud, unstoppable and magnificent. One by one, but without pause. Of course, such a cry is sometimes annoying in the afternoon.
Cicada is a plaything for children. Catch the cicada-we are used to knowing the cicada and knowing the cicada, which is the greatest pleasure. On a hot afternoon, when the sun was blazing, adults took a nap, and the child sneaked out to resist that guy-a gauze bag tied to a long bamboo pole. This is a tool for flapping cicadas. They can jump into the Woods outside the village or even on the giant cicadas in the yard.
Cicada usually perches on tree trunks. Hearing the cry, I crept closer and held my breath for it. After a while, I will see a black man barking stupidly in a tree. Children's eyes are always sharp. Lift the bamboo pole, gently beat the sandbag, bang, buckle it. Nine times out of ten, cicadas will be doomed and fall into sandbags.
I caught it, took it home, found a thin thread, tied the cicada's wings and picked it up to play. Said to make it fly.
However, how can a bound cicada fly high? No longer sing loudly, occasionally "know" a few times, looking like a victim of struggle.
One summer, I don't know how many poor cicadas fell into a trap made of sandbags by children. What can I do, children? Although they are weak, a weaker life will become a plaything in their hands. Cicada, this is fate.
After arriving in the northeast, I haven't heard cicadas for several years. Maybe the summer here is not hot enough. Perhaps, cicadas in the country can't come to the city. Perhaps, when I was busy, I had ignored the chirping of cicadas. In a word, I am becoming more and more unfamiliar with cicada singing.
This year, the first time I heard cicada singing was on the afternoon of the second day in beginning of autumn, on this road. At that time, I thought the voice was strange and familiar, but I couldn't remember what it was. So much so that I thought someone was decorating, and there was the sound of "cheep-cheep-cheep-cheep-cheep-cheep-cheep-cheep-cheep-cheep-cheep-cheep-cheep-cheep-cheep-cheep-cheep-cheep-cheep.
However, the sound of the chainsaw tempts your ears to listen, listen and listen carefully. Looks like you have to hear the difference. Finally, I also heard the difference-this is cicada singing. The sound of the chainsaw can't last so long.
Cicada, I heard it when I was a child. A little surprised, after all, I haven't heard of it for years, and I'm still a stranger. But there were no surprises. It's just a sound. However, after walking this road, there is another action, looking up and looking for cicadas along the sound. The purpose of search is not to capture it. Even if it stops in front of my eyes, I have no interest in catching it. It's just a casual search. I don't care if I can find it. Perhaps this search is just an excuse. What can you pretend? Empty, nowhere to fall? I don't know, and there is no need to know. This action itself is contradictory. If you can't find it, look for it. I don't want to find it. I'm still looking.
It's already autumn, and it's getting deeper and deeper. The cicada singing every day may be the last time. Until one day, it disappeared. Maybe this day is tomorrow. They appear so late, they are worthy of the name of Qiu Chan, and they must sing for a short time at the turn of summer and autumn.
However, cicada, whom I have never met, thank you for letting me hear a different sound in this environment and in an almost suffocating breath, which can arouse a little memory of my childhood. The sound brought some distance closer. In these distances, I have gone further and further, and sometimes I feel terrible. Forget it, let's talk about you, cicada. Autumn has passed, where will you go in winter? Will you come next year?
In fact, what will happen tomorrow and next year? Nobody knows.
(3) One day
My child, she likes to ask me about her childhood, and she has to ask the same thing many times. For example, how was she born? Ask for every detail. Her eyes, sparkling. Her expression is rich and exaggerated. She will laugh. Will pretend to be in pain. Will make faces and imitate my narrative. At a young age, I was already intoxicated with my past.
She is completely different from me in this respect. I don't remember whether I asked my mother about my childhood. She, my mother, seldom takes the initiative to talk about my past without memory. Maybe I'm not interested in the young past. I was born a child who likes to escape, including escaping from the past. Let bygones be bygones, and it's better not to mention it again.
In fact, my relationship with my mother has always been cold. Seldom speak. Even if two people sit opposite each other, they are basically speechless. Her words should be more than mine. But for me, it's less. Without this intimacy, nothing can be said.
My daughter is different from me, too lively and lively. We are very close. I don't see any shadow of me in her.
I don't know the scene when I was born. I only remember that it was more than 30 years ago today. Of course, it was hot that day, not today's light rain. At noon, I was born. A baby girl was born. That's all I know. My grandmother told me when I was young. I haven't thought about asking my mother for serious verification once. I don't care. It seems that I came to this world in a daze. I've been in a fog for a long time. Cooking takes a long time. Time flies.
Last night, insomnia. A sleepless night. Overnight, more than 30 years have passed. The first half of my life, maybe most of my life, has passed. What about the future? That sounds horrific.
It is time. Time is attached to the body, and countless invisible holes are always open. When you are born, your vitality will leak out of the air and keep leaking until one day, it becomes an empty skin.
This is the third day of the Olympic Games, and China has won eight gold medals. It is raining. It rains very slowly. This day is related to the Olympic Games and the rain.
In the evening, flowers, cakes, vegetables and wine, three people. Warm and calm. My child, smiling happily. I held her and stroked her, trying to find what she lacked. I won't find it. She's nothing like me. I hope this is a good thing.
Today is just one day.
(4) rainy nights.
Raindrops beat on the window frequently and rapidly. The howling wind, waves of surging, hoarse roar. The trees downstairs staggered under the dim street lights and struggled with all their strength. This struggle has been going on for a day. Still have to fight. A moth, with a bang, hit the glass of the window, and its flustered wings didn't reach the windowsill, so it fell down. Disappear in the dark, disappear in the wind and rain. Bright, warm and safe, just separated by a layer of transparent, seemingly nonexistent glass, but can't get in. This night is doomed to be its disaster. Maybe this is the end of its life. Many weak lives will disappear in this night.
There was no thunder.
The sky is as black as a basin of ink, heavy and gloomy. Like a giant bottomless pit. Humidity, dripping with water, is a powerful lubricant, which accelerates the sinking and degeneration of the night.
Everything will be swallowed up by black holes.
(5) Autumn mood
Tall and refreshing-everyone says so. Because autumn is too obvious. In the morning and evening, the weather is very cold. At noon, although it was still hot, it was less stuffy. Especially in the afternoon with good weather, the sky is blue and bright, like a pure lake with blue waves rippling overhead. There will be elegant white clouds, strolling leisurely on the lake, with changeable postures and different styles. The mood will naturally relax. People are naturally lazy. At this time, I like to walk with my head up. Hold your head high and look at the blue sky and white clouds. I lack imagination, how to look at it, blue sky is blue sky, white clouds are white clouds, there will be no other strange ideas. But I am not bored, because it is simple and profound.
It rained last night, but it was sunny when I got up this morning. The road is wet and the trees are green. The green in autumn is always different from the green in summer. It is quiet and serene. Like a woman with life experience, she is quietly waiting for an unchangeable change. I hesitated at the window for a long time-which pair of sweatpants should I wear to run? Long or short? Finally put on your pants. Outside, I still feel a little cold. After running around the green belt of the community for three times, gradually, the sweat began to flow down the cheeks and the back of the coat was soaked. So, I think I should have worn shorts just now. In fact, this morning, it was not hot, so it was suitable for exercise, or just to go out for a walk and walk alone. I like the feeling of sweating when running.
Yesterday afternoon, the family came back from going out and passed a watermelon field. Watermelon seedlings in the field are intertwined and dry, almost all yellow. Weeds are overgrown, but it is also a scene of impending desolation and decline. Stop to buy watermelons. How can such an interesting opportunity be missed? It turned out to be very cheap-five dollars for three! They are all big and fresh. The market near my home sells for 80 cents a catty. A man rushed home with a big watermelon in his arms. Is this the autumn harvest, too? !
Put away the mosquito net in my daughter's bedroom. I haven't seen mosquitoes for days. Wash the mosquito net, pack it and put it on the top of the cabinet, and wait for the next summer.