Chi Zijian: People who love nature are happy

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Eleven years ago, in Dublin Bay, Ireland, I met a special pair of sea watchers.

It should be a mother and son, right?

A middle-aged man with a scruffy beard and a disheveled dress, holding an old woman in a black robe, got out of a tattered car and walked slowly to the beach. The middle-aged man stooped down, shrugged his head, and his gait was tired; the old woman tried to hold her head high, pulling her body straight, walking slowly, a solemn posture.

When they got closer, I found that the old woman turned out to be blind!

The waves of the sea rolled up, the gulls and birds circled, and the old woman could not see such a scene, but she stood on the seashore, a stone's throw away from the sea, with her hands clasped in her fists, like a devout believer, looking at the sea like a prayer. The man who was holding her whispered something in her ear from time to time, and she responded to something from time to time.

Judging by the cars and clothes they drive, they are poor people in life. But nature never abandons the poor, it opens its arms to all who love it.

In my eyes, there are several lamps buried in a person's body, illuminating our connection to the world. Our eyes, ears, noses, tongues, and hands are invisible lights. The eyes are the lamp of vision, the ears are the lamp of hearing, the nose is the lamp of smell, the tongue is the lamp of taste, and the hand is the lamp of touch. When one light goes out, the other light will become exceptionally bright! The old woman standing by the sea, her visual light is extinguished, but relying on hearing, she can still hear the breath of the sea; relying on smell, she can still smell the sea; and she only has to bend down and take a handful of sand on the beach to know how the sea has washed the years, and her tactile lamp is still bright.

I believe that the sea that the old woman felt, on that quiet afternoon, was stronger than all of us, because she had a heart that listened to the sea.

It seems that there is nothing in the world that can block the most natural closeness between man and nature.

I love nature because since childhood, it has been like a cradle, hugging me closely.

In the winter of the hometown, the snowflakes rely on the cold current, and as soon as they bloom, it is a winter. When snowflakes fall on trees, trees become flower trees; when snowflakes fall on the woodland, the of the red-brained gate act as painters and leave enchanting pictures in the snow; and when snowflakes fall on the roof, the roof wears a white velvet hat!

In the snowy season, we like to snuggle up by the fire and listen to the old people tell mythological stories. The people in the story are both people and things; and the things in the story are things and people! In the story, a monk walks in the setting sun and suddenly turns into a cloud; and a clear stream is made of the soul of a resentful girl. Mountains, rivers, plants and people, life and death transformation, inextricable! After hearing such stories, I often dare not sleep, for fear that when I wake up, I will become a tree or a river. Although trees can attract beautiful birds and there are colorful fish in the river, I love my family more and the dogs in my yard even more!

When the spring wind breaks the wings of snowflakes, the river that has been frozen for a winter opens! The snow melts, and this mythical story ends. People don't have to live in houses and spend the winter with stories. Everyone rushed to the forest to collect everything that could be eaten, wild vegetables and wild fruits, fungus mushrooms, and even flowers. A child who grew up in the mountains recognized nature when he flipped through nature's calendar with his feet. We know how to avoid the attack of the wasp when picking flowers, and we do not sweep its excitement; when we go to the riverbank to collect stinky plums, we know how to strike the iron bucket with the head of the sickle to drive away the gluttonous bear; we know how to throw the snake away when we encounter it; we know how to burn them away with red cigarette butts if we are attached to ticks when we return from the mountains.