With sincerity as the heart, with friends. Hello everyone, here is the Best Friend Voice Version! Today, we want to share with you Wang Xiaomei's essay - "Withering and Blooming, Both Between the Sleeves of the Wind".
At the end of the year and the beginning of the year, the fallen leaves around the mountain house were thickly paved like a blanket, most of which were once golden and red maple leaves on the branches, and the color of the light and detractory on the ground had a kind of wordless vicissitudes, but it was more intriguing. The garden let it fall colorful leaves, but the terrace still needs to be cleaned, but just swept away, the wind together, three or three two fallen leaves came to report again. When the fallen leaves seem to never be swept away, sometimes the sweep sweeps as if he were the little monk who swept the floor, facing the troubled fallen leaves that have fallen down, and single-mindedly sweeping.
The mountain house is located next to the woods, so there are many kinds of deciduous leaves, and in addition to the common green maple, there are also nan trees, camphor trees, oil trees, xiao nan, mountain jute, goosefoot wood, white onion wood and unknown trees, etc., and even occasionally there are flowers that are too late to bloom!
A few days ago when cleaning found a section of green willow fir, should be brought by the wind from the forest, generally mostly brown dead branches and cones, so verdant is destroyed, it can be seen that the wind is strong and merciless, it is mixed in the leaf pile is particularly conspicuous.
Willow fir used to be the wood of a telephone pole, painted with black tar, which is not only super durable, but also resistant to moth erosion. Later, the poles were replaced by cement columns, and the wood poles were rared day by day. There was a row of tall willow firs on the side of the road behind the mountain house, which was green all year round, and I remember that one winter there was a rare snowfall, and the towering willow fir was covered with a layer of snow, standing in the cold wind like a row of brave guards, the scene was really unforgettable!
The winter sunset leaves are noisy like the wind, but the falling flowers are like rain, always drifting quietly, and when they are not careful, they scatter all over the ground, such as the plum blossoms that bloom more and more coldly, like the black heart stone flowers that swirl down from the high branches, here and there are paved with white flower cloth, sometimes intertwined with yellow leaves and more abundant, they fall on the garden path or mountain road, and people gently walk through there is a kind of idyllic happiness. At this time, the increasingly full buds of the mountain cherry blossoms were full of momentum among the branches, and some of them couldn't help but smile at the branches! It's a relay race, with new green shoots drawn from the snow-white plum blossoms, and the flowers and leaves will be handed over at some point in time. And in order, cherry blossoms, peach blossoms, plum blossoms, apricot blossoms... It's like the transmutation of the four seasons.
After several cold currents, some plants can not withstand such a toss and seem particularly dry and desolate, but lingering in the mountain villages can always hear some notes gently raised from the hanging place, the most magnificent of which is the beautiful camellia flowers, or pink or red full of robust and energetic, in front of the mountain village people's doors, yards, roadsides will gradually sing the end of the year. I was attracted by a leaf-changing tree on the side of the road, and among the gray and white branches, there were red and yellow slender leaves growing upwards, like flames lit in winter, showing the heavens and the earth the eternal vitality.
yes! Withering and blooming, both between the sleeves of the wind. Withering is a house, it is the brewing of joy, and the bloom will eventually turn into spring mud and protect the flowers. Honey! I am still sweeping the floor, the fallen leaves are gradually thinning, and the various leaves on the heart in front of me will be removed and returned to dust; tomorrow, the swept heart will have the sky light and clouds walking by, the thousands of purple and red Tingting stop, the trees and birds singing, the breeze and the bright moon whispering, then will look at you from afar, watch the sunrise and sunset, the wind and clouds, the waves are not happy. You have been here, we have all been, the empty terrace leaves no trace, when spring quietly comes.