LinXu Mountain is obviously different from other peaks in the Taihang Mountains, it is not overlooking the great beauty of the North China Plain without edges, and on the other hand marveling at the extreme wonders of the long ridges that stand like a wall, but the continuous trend makes people look at the mountain high, even if it is high, the mountains in front of you are still those mountains and mountains, the mountains are continuous, the peaks are connected, it is the mountain outside the mountain, the peak in the peak, the cliff on the cliff. In such an environment, people often have limited vision, and they are also suffering from the difficulty of traveling, but this kind of danger has achieved clouds and fog, and people know that the mountain is the hometown of the clouds, which is not false at all, and the expression and performance of the clouds in the mountains is enjoyable. The clouds are also foggy, and no matter how they roll and mess in the mountains, they always lose their temperament; the gathering is also scattered, and it is combined at will and at will, and all changes become climates. Clouds and mist play with mountains and peaks, soaring into clouds or winding into thick fog. If it wants the wind, it will rush to bring the wind to it, it will rain, it will embrace the rain, this is all instantaneous, pleasant things.
Climbing in the mountains, there is often a sudden embarrassment, it is as clear as a blazing sun, and suddenly it is like a heavy rain, making a noise on the dangerous rock of the cliff in front of you; and it is going to find a place to shelter from the rain, and it is cloudy and foggy, and it is as clear as ever. The clouds and mist are so arbitrary, and the climate is so changeable, it also makes the people in the mountains a little less in awe, and a little more careless. The wind and rain are also rainy, and the people in the mountains are not frightened or afraid, but they are calm and idle, and they never panic and mess up the square inches. Lin Xushan is lively and often makes the clouds happy, and for a moment it crosses the peak, just like the white cream on the top of the huge cake; the next moment it falls to the peak and falls, wandering, and like a white streamer wrapped around the mountainside. The wind blew clouds and mist, running between the peaks, constantly being squeezed into wisps of moisture by the towering peak rocks, and then sadly intertwined into drops of tears, falling on the slopes and ditches, but it rushed back and forth, without entanglement and entanglement, and even refused to leave a trace, but helplessly became a damp under the weeds.
In fact, the rain is still in the mountains. As the precursor of mountain rain, first those large and undue raindrops, inflated by the air, clumsily and slowly fell to the ground, such as throwing out bean grains, emitting a metallic sound of music, splashing up small pieces of dust fog, and then forming a dense rainstorm pouring down, catching people off guard, the momentum is even faster than the flood of the broken embankment, but it is like a splash, that is, for a while, when the rain passes through the mountain dry, all the rain will rush along the ancient waterway, merge into the mountain stream, and then merge into a big river, gushing and rejoicing, gushing into song. If it is the rainy season, the clouds in the mountains are raining, the rain is swirling, the rain is swirling, the rain is tighter than a string of beads, the rain is a stream, the creek is a wave, just the sound of the wind to the pillow, will disturb you sleepless overnight, who will have a way to take it? Only by letting that wild heart, sprinkling enough wild, sprinkling joy and tiredness, can it calm down, at this time, I am outside the mountain rational and orderly thinking, in the rain and plausible, chaotic. The mountain house was pitch black, lighting the old porcelain cup that had been used by whomever had used it, like a bean flame wafting, and the vegetable oil emitted an old and familiar smell. At this time, listening to the rain at the window, only listening to the light rain ticking and singing, continuing with a long poetry and romance, both rain flowers blooming in the sky and wet splashing time, so I suddenly remembered a poet friend who said to me that when a guy sits dry and enjoys the rain, if he can't think of a beautiful painting and a good poem at the same time, then he is still an idiot. At this time, I recombed my chaotic thoughts, but thinking about it, thinking about it was invisible, I couldn't clean it up, I couldn't take care of it, and I didn't have any waves, I didn't think anymore, I was silent in the rain, and I was idiotic. The rapid and soothing of the night rain is like a concert, the mountain rain and smoke waves, the shallow singing of the years, the graceful sound of the clanging and the sound, so that the surrounding air is solidified, and everything is in a static state. But careful people can also distinguish the sound of the wind shaking the mountain forest branches, as well as the sound of raindrops knocking on the leaf petals of plants, and the artistic conception of rain hitting plantains in ancient poems, which feels very wonderful, almost indescribable!
With the night rain before and after the foot running waterfall, a night rain, thousands of waterfalls, all the high cliffs above the waterfall landscape, or spray or surge, or fall or fall, impatiently showing themselves, not at all at all at ease, spontaneously whistling with a sharp sound, reverberating in the mountains. The colorful mood of the night was so wet by the rain that the mountain stream washed away and the waterfall was shattered. Who knew that in the morning, there was no sign of rain, except for the slight coolness and the habitual mountain wind, only to see the flowers, green leaves and young branches that had been knocked down by the rain, gathered under the eaves with misery, misty, grass-colored, after such a noise, the mountain was even more silent than before, but the temperament was fiery, talking like a waterfall, and there was still a river roaring, which was also no way to do, so it became the only friend in the mountain who could get along with himself in a high profile, Zhang Yang let it be zhangyang, And let us look at the green mountains and appreciate all this with our eyes! If the green mountains cannot be blocked, the thoughts of the ten thousand weights, the beauty of nature, and the fun of the wild mountains have always been dignified, like a longing, an order, and a truth that cannot be clearly explained, because it restores to our original pure dream that is clear and colorless, even if it is half-mountain smoke and rain, it is colorful! From this, we can see how incredible it is to be as calm as water!
About the Author
Wang Xingzhou, pen name Dongpo Shi, poet and writer, member of The Chinese Writers Association, member of the Chinese Prose Literature Association, member of the Henan Writers Association, director of the Henan Provincial Prose and Poetry Society, and visiting professor of the College of Literature of Anyang Normal University. He has published monographs such as the poetry collection "The Moon Boat Collection", the prose collection "The Collection of Clouds", "The Flowers Bloom at That Time", "A Little Notes on the Customs of Taihang", and "A Few Flowers in the Dream".