In the depths of despair, the song of life

#Winter Life Punch Card Season #Only by going through hellish ordeal can you have the strength to reach heaven; only the bloodied hand can play the song of fate - inscription

Hanging in the west of the slanting sun, a black bird stood quietly on the boulder, like a statue, allowing the bloody remnants of the sun to be gilded for the last time with golden brilliance.

As night fell, it caressed its beak with its beak and plucked it vigorously. That wing first spasmed, followed by the pain of tearing the heart and lungs, the blood dripped and fell, the wings were fiery red, one, two, three... It was pulling like crazy, its feathers were falling, and its blood was flowing, and at this time, its whole body seemed to dance in the fire, and its golden wings emitted cold, hot lights.

The night sea is vast, the night is shrouded, under the sky, everything is immersed in sweet dreams, when the last feather on one wing falls, the midnight bell rings through the valley, it falls powerlessly on the boulder 8, this wing has lost consciousness, its throat is burning, smoke rises... It fell asleep, dreaming that it had become a small eagle, snuggled happily in its mother's arms.

The north wind blew, it shivered, stood up from its sleep, fell down again, stood up again, stood up again, fell down again... It is somewhat desperate. The cold moonlight passed through the densely packed woods, it desperately flared its wings on the ground, it looked into the distance through the moonlight, and the familiar woods, illuminated by the bleak moonlight, like a terrifying ghost, with its teeth and claws, as if to frantically pounce on it and devour it. Unconsciously, it was misty with tears.

It gritted its teeth and stood up again with difficulty, and in the bitter wind a firm conviction gripped it, it did not fall again, it began to pluck the remnants of another wing, its body was weak, its claws could not grasp the boulder, each pull was like death, it was engaged in a hand-to-hand battle of blood and fire with the god of death, it fought more and more courageously, and finally it won, it plucked out all its feathers.

At this time, in the east, a round of red sun spewed out, and the red was surprisingly red. It stared at the blood-colored feathers on the ground, and then looked up at the red sun, and suddenly, it picked up a feather, and then threw it out forcefully, watching it fly farther and farther, shining in the golden glow, and it threw another one...

When the fragments of feathers flew out and flew like snowflakes stained by maple leaves, the red sun had crossed the blockade of the horizon. Gold and red intertwine to form a beautiful landscape. It laughed, laughed a little wildly; it cried again, crying heartbreakingly!

Those remnants, flying high, very high, finally landed on the moon. They carry the courage, persistence and faith of a golden eagle, and also record the life course of a golden eagle "phoenix nirvana, rebirth from the fire".

In the winter of this year, it grew new wings, and when the feathers of its wings, like a golden arrow, stood proudly on its body, the first thing it did was to soar straight into the clouds and throw a string of loud and majestic cries into every corner of the firmament. It has finally returned with the glory of the king of the golden eagle, and it is proud of the crowd!

Only after experiencing hellish tempering can we have the strength to reach heaven; only the feathers that have shed blood can reflect the glory of life! (Postscript)

I hope that my words can give you in the predicament a faint light of hope! Comments are welcome! Your attention, likes, and retweets are all great encouragement to me!