As soon as winter comes, I rarely go to the back of the house.
I didn't go because the alley I had to go behind the house was now a wind guide. Winter comes from the far north, it crosses the Yellow River, jumps over the Yangtze River, and still has no tiredness in the warm south. Cold is the endless flow of wind pipes. When I came out of the courtyard gate, I had not yet turned around, and immediately felt the wind coming against the wall, like the surging tide of the Qiantang River on August 15, and I was eager to shrink my head into my neck.
The woods behind the house used to be a convenient place for "rhubarb", a very open place. Rhubarb is a clever house dog, and when I go out, I hold it because it doesn't know where I'm going to take it, and as soon as it turns around the house, it knows the direction, and the mouth begins to "hum hum" excitement. Squeezing hard in front of me, spreading my legs and feet and dragging me along. It is the norm to often carry it when it is not cold. In fact, there is nothing to see there, except for a neem tree that can often arouse my aftertaste, the rest are seven or eight Metasequoia trees. Wild vegetables and wild grasses on the ground will also wither in summer, and those that have been sprayed by herbicides over and over again are poisoned, and often after half a month, the places that have dried up will emerge a little greenery, and there is a "wildfire burning" situation.
But herbicides can't spray on the branches, and it is winter that can make the Metasequoia leaves yellow. In fact, it is not a dry yellow, the accurate point should be dark red, a piece of wire rope exposed in the wind and rain of time, rust red after corrosion.
I was standing on the path in front of the door, seeing these Metasequoias through the back of the roof, and standing far away I only saw the tip of the "umbrella". The tree grew tall and tall, but it had its own unique style, and even in the lush summer, it could not stretch its beautiful and flowing long sleeves, like a huge umbrella that was casually folded up. Let the wind and rain and the sun fall with the trend. Now the umbrella coat was torn, rotten, and fallen, leaving only the broken umbrella bone entangled with the wind, dancing a dance that no one applauded.
In winter, the Metasequoia is lonely, the shells of cicadas or the trunks of trees linger, and the sound of cicadas has passed away with the years; occasionally one or two birds come to rest their feet and then open their wings.
The lively season is a thing of the past.
Man's life is like this ordinary grass and trees. Old age will face loneliness, when you take it as a different kind of landscape, the heart will feel normal, feel calm, like this rusty Metasequoia, learn to enjoy loneliness, your life will be endless.
In the deep winter, on a sunny day, I turned the corner, walked to the back of the house, stepped on the thick leaves on the ground, and took a few autumn pictures with the mobile phone in my hand, and also collected the scenery of the deep winter into my memory. In the spring when the flowers bloom, look for an unforgettable coolness.