Wen | Li Xiao
The last few sheets on the 2021 desk calendar, the wind lifted the paper thin.
This year, the flow of time is endless, gazing at the riverbed of life, what words are engraved on the riverbed by the blade of time that emits a cold light?
parting
In this world, parting is something that happens every second, and some parting is a farewell. Death is like a cool summer night, and Shakespeare's words make death carry the quiet beauty and coolness of autumn leaves. My father said goodbye to me in the late autumn. Usually there are many thoughts in my heart, always thinking of spending more time with my parents, but often on the grounds of busy things and social entertainment, in fact, many times I am wasted and dazed. A sudden illness in his father completely shattered the idea of accompanying him to see the mountains and water to see old relatives and old friends. After half a month in a coma in the hospital, my father let out his last breath. I understand that he still has a lot to say. These unspoken words, from now on, I can only communicate silently with him while staring at the twinkling stars in the sky. At home, the couch that my father used to sit on was a small pit, and now I sit on it, and I feel his warm body temperature.
Miss
It was also late autumn when a motherly loving female poet passed away, and I felt that I had also experienced inner bruises. When people reach middle age, greasy and smoke wrapped around the atrium, looking at this world, I need to maintain proper restraint and coldness. But every time the poetess's poems are read, they warm the atrium of the heart that has been waiting to be fed. The light of the vicissitudes of the years after the bronze infiltration is the color of her poetry. I was still waiting for her new poem, and she quietly disappeared into the orchard of the gentle world, taciturn, smiling, compassionate, the expression she left for me. She is the poet Fu Tianlin, and many literary friends affectionately call her "Mother Fu", and she always smiles and nods. "The wings of thought vibrate quietly / A thin layer of grease overflows the pores / That is its boiling love tormented in pain / It will eventually burn and extinguish in a calm rhythm / Oh, lemon / This is undoubtedly the most resilient tree species in the fruit forest..." In early winter, I went to a lemon town more than fifty kilometers away from the city, looking at the yellow that came from the mountains and fields, and the poet's recitation of "Lemon Yellow" came from the sky and the clouds, and the sound was pleasant and the sound was moist. In this day and age, to be a poet remembered by the reader is actually happy, because the life of poetry can last for thousands of years.
tree
I claimed some trees in the mountains: camphor, eucalyptus, conifer, acacia, paulownia, willow... Their sentry-like arrays, rooted in the mountains, experienced thunder and lightning, wind and hail, soaked in the light of the sun and moon, and pulsed me wave after wave. I went to the ground in the mountains, approached a tree, and relaxedly approached it, and the greenery spread across the lung leaves. Once you meditate too deeply, you will live into the state of a plant, completing your spiritual self-healing in the sound of the wind. I lean on these trees, and the poisons of despair, mania, sorrow, joy, impulsiveness, vileness, slipperyness, and vulgarity in my heart are absorbed through the roots of the trees. Through the baptism of a tree, I can induce the tree of life to bloom with vigorous green foliage in some moments of silence and gloom. In the mountains, I know the wood of a violin, some of which also come from boxwood, but most of this wood takes more than one or two hundred years, after soaking and proofing, making the baseplate, scraping the ash tire, painting, preparing the strings, winding, the afterlife of a violin, is the death and resurrection of a tree. While I was writing, I played the Introduction and Fantasy Whirlwind on violin, the work of the French composer Saint-Saëns. In the sound of the weeping piano, I closed my eyes and the leaves of the boxwood trees floating in the sky appeared. The encounter between a tree and a piano is far less likely than the probability of two confidants meeting in the sea of people.
Wenyou
In 2021, I met several old county wenyou in the 1980s and 1990s. Over the years, whether living in the same city or in a foreign land, we have no desire to see each other again, and the enthusiasm of the past has been burned into the ashes of time, and the fire is tired. When we meet again, there is a sense of dust like unearthed cultural relics, and we have resurrected the days when we were once filled with dreams by memory, and the passion secretion of hormones at that time seemed childish and absurd, but it made us deeply miss. In the boat of time that has left half his life and returned with the rest of his life, he vainly wants to rely on an old ticket to carve a sword, but he can no longer board the passenger ship in the silhouette of memory. A literary friend who is over sixty years old has published four novels in three years. The book that the literary friend gave me, I muted my mobile phone under the bedside lamp at the end of the year, and read it slowly. With my long-lost patience, I spent eight nights reading a novel.
Words engraved in 2021, as well as reading, swimming, drinking, worrying, nagging... They eventually became silent beings in the dictionary of life.