There are many rivers in Zizhong, and where there are mountains, there is water. There is a small river in the north of the city, called Maoxi, which is very poetic.
The ancient Maoxi River flows through a community in the village of Berlin in Ma'an Town, and in a place called Pear Garden, there is a stone pier bridge across the stream. A lonely and flexible stone pier meanders from one shore to another, like a piano key. Pedestrians cross the river on the stone pier, as if jumping lightly on a beautiful note, which is very poetic.
The stone pier bridge has no complex shape, no exquisite carving, only dozens of thick stone piers standing in the river beach without a single seam, twisting east and west, staggering, like a dancing dragon. This stone pier bridge that crosses the creek and crosses the ditch is called a jumping bridge because people have to jump on the stone pier when crossing the river.
The river is clear, the stone piers are leisurely, and the small bridge is curved, witnessing the history of this bridge. But to ask how old this jumping bridge is, locals say that my grandfather had this bridge when he was a child, probably hundreds of years old.
In the early morning of March, the creek surface is also covered with a layer of light veil, as thin as cicada wings, milky white like jade, and it fills the bridge, adding a kind of elegance and charm to the bridge. The clear stream sings low and crosses the bridge, incomparably light and cheerful.
The truncated stone piers in the mist are like the backs of a cow rising from the water, sleeping in the stream breathing the breath of spring.
The two ends of the bridge are pink and willow green, the grass is long and the warblers fly, the purple swallows are murmuring, and the bees are flying and butterflies are dancing. Three or five groups of flower ducks and white geese chased and frolicked in the water; one or two village girls and old women washed happily on the shore... An ink painting full of water town poetry unfolds slowly.
A few distant yakes, far away from the busyness of the world, also came to see the brilliant scenery of the Maoxi River.
A woman dressed in plain clothes climbed the jumping bridge, and the clear stream under the bridge like jasper quietly left the shadow of her standing on the bridge.
When the breeze came, I also stepped on the stone pier, foolishly moving my steps on a section of stone pier standing in the water, and stepping on the memory of jumping on the bridge with the wind.
The round stone arch, like a pair of deep eyes, gazes at the twilight dynasty of the ancient bridge. Sitting on the arch of the bridge and gently caressing the moss on the stone pier, looking back at the footprints carved on the stone pier by time and the years, it tells me that although the times have changed and the land has flourished, there are fewer and fewer people walking on this bridge now, but the years of knowing the cold and knowing the warmth have not corroded its pale and ageless appearance, the flowing water that knows the roots, and the hard but not hard heart of the soft fossil pier.
A man stands quietly in the middle of the bridge, watching the stream under the bridge flow with the fragrant babbling of the mountain. Heaven is filled with the wind, and Xuan is refreshing. The valley chirps, the sound of the spring sounds true, and the veins of joy flow shallow.
At this time, there is a sense of independence, and I suddenly feel that I am a bard from ancient times like the stream under the stone arch. With poetic eyes, I stepped into a frame of spring painting and gently rested on the jumping bridge.