Prose | Jin Xianglan: Sighing Snow (Outer One)

Sigh snow (outer one)

Text/Jin Xianglan

Recently, one of the more emotional sentences is "you never know which luck or accident comes first" Yesterday I was still wearing autumn clothes and pants and sweaty weather, but today when I woke up, it was a scene of heavy snow and silver on the ground. The wish that had been longing for all winter last year but had never been satisfied, was realized early this year. After complaining, he still went to the window with some joy and took a short video and sent a few photos to his son who was thousands of miles away, and told his son to pay attention to adding clothes when he was cold. Because his son likes snow, but in the south, he definitely has no chance to experience this scene.

For more than a year, as long as I mentioned my son, I couldn't help but cry and have a terrible mental breakdown. My son, who had excellent grades, liked to study at home after the epidemic ended, staying alone in his own small space, living an isolated life, and the anxiety of being a mother buried my all-round sunshine. I had a thought in my heart: No matter what the college entrance examination results are, just leave me with a son who is physically and mentally healthy. After the results of the second college entrance examination came out, although it was still not as expected, I have been relieved of his results. In the end, he chose his favorite city, his favorite major, and he lived happily every day, feeling satisfied and happy every day to complete new learning goals. Except for a few white clouds in my blue sky, every day is full of light.

After taking photos from the bay window, I felt a little cold, and I wanted to turn on the air conditioner for a while, and I pressed the switch - power outage! Go to the kitchen and make some breakfast – no fire! Play with mobile phones - no internet! This is modern life! How is there no electricity and no network? Looking out the window at the turquoise leaves with white crowns, the golden leaves are still struggling with the white, what is the use of struggling? The power of nature, the cycle of the four seasons, makes everything the best arrangement. Go downstairs to look at the grass and the little flowers in full bloom, and reluctantly bow your head, hiding in the white bed and secretly watching, pitiful? Yesterday, the flowers and branches were still spreading, and the blink of an eye was trembling, withering and withering. Looking at this flower, I remembered a colleague in the same office for a few years, less than forty years old, two years ago the health examination found that I don't know if it was a lung or liver problem, we and she didn't feel much of a problem, continued to work, did surgery after two months, and continued to come to work, and then slowly came less, and then did not come, heard that hospitalized, and then a colleague went to visit and said that he was thin and did not look like, his heart trembled. Two weeks ago the news came – dead! tremor! No matter how good the medical technique is, there is no cure for the disease, is it really fate? On the way back from the condolences, I feel that the world is so gray! People who are so close to us are suddenly far away from another world! Epiphany: The world is missing too many colors! Went to the mall that afternoon, bought a big red coat, suddenly felt that in this cold and warm season, there is more warmth, but also an extra color, although the wardrobe does not lack color, there is no lack of style, but buying clothes is happy.

Live in the moment! Grab an umbrella, step on the snow, admire the long-lost snowflakes, and go to a restaurant for a meal. No electricity, no gas, no net life also has color, see where your heart is.

poetry

fog

Embraced arbitrarily by you

Unable to breathe or even suffocate

Do your best to break free of your incivility

And you're in the air

Wet my thousand-year-old pride

Mai Mang's eyes

Can't travel through your time and space

Take a handful of innocent moonlight

Sprinkle on the silent earth

There is no echo and no ripples

You can only shout in a hoarse voice

A ray of light shines on my soul

There is only a quiet firmament

Quietly envelop that momentary escape

The soul above the clouds

Continue to search for the shadow of the sun

The myth of wandering light

(Image of this article is provided by the author)

【About the Author】 Jin Xianglan, an English teacher at Xinxian Experimental High School, likes to read prose in her spare time and likes to use words to dispel her thoughts. Description of himself: The world is dusty, occasionally pitiful and lonely, and when the flowering period is over, the dark fragrance comes to sleep.