【Prose Appreciation】Snow in the ancient city of Taierzhuang
Text/Shi Peijing
Snowflakes dipped in the ink of the night, and quietly stamped the ancient city of Taierzhuang with Yangwen white characters in the early morning. The ink is soaked into the bricks and tiles of the ming and qing barge wall walls, and a black soap horn shell will be used as a blue-black medallion. The taierzhuang ancient canal is the side of the seal, the pause is white practice, the straight fall is scorched ink, the snowflakes are cut out to attract snowflakes, and a legend of ups and downs is opened between the water and the city.
The snow had to be slowly laid out one by one before it was willing to come all over the city. On the first day, he smuggled through the ancient canal in a breeze, told the ridge tiles and mud beasts at the West City Gate "Taicheng Old Zhi", and swept through the bluestone slabs of Da YaMen Street. The next day, it was mild, and the boat girl shook out warm sweat and covered a layer of diaphragm. "Warm rain and warm snow." The old man who played magic said, "God has played a visible magic trick." "On the third day, it begins with the kiss of the prefectural office on the east side of the Halal South Temple. This gentle snow dried up the white of the ancient city's sincerity. Ink colored with alum-cooked rice paper, snowflakes silvery white dark pattern. A handmade version of the ancient city, which undertakes natural snow and offers a whimsical medal.
Snowflakes are lined up in front of the pear blossoms, embroidered brick by brick, worn by grass and wood, penetrated in the slightest, the rhythm is even, the intention is traceless, and the cracked old tree is rubbed with a kind of cosmetics called "old and pretty".
The joy was that the Arrow Road Street wonton stall cooked a warm yearning. Coriander, stretching in the steaming heat, spring sees color in the white porcelain bowl. Wontons bulge belly, can't wait to prompt everything to germinate. Snow, puff and puff, nagging and nagging, not lukewarm, not long, not short, walking not tired, sweaty.
A piece of fine ancient rice paper, pouring gouache gold powder from The Dai ChunLin in Jiangnan, Shangyuehe Street. A snow captured the gold bricks and silver ingots in the vault of the Cao Gang Dart Bureau; a snow, which whitened the wine flag of the Daosheng Winery. The "World's First Village" is becoming more and more black and bright, flowing into the ink color of moisture.
Calm down and continue to precipitate fermentation, a glass of snowflake-brewed millennium aged wine. In the middle of T-shaped street and the cracks in the bricks of the hall, like a cracking frost to smooth out the old days; the servants are in the dry branches, and the incense leaves of the New Guandi Temple fall and bloom; the servants are on the barge of Shunhe Street, intercepting the lone guest in the fishing fire and chanting a good poem for himself.
The beauty of the blank, who can say it at a time, walking carefully, the creaking sound is like the sound of spring, eagerly appearing on the scene, falling a snowflake seal as big as the ancient city of Taierzhuang.
One Point Flyover Writer