Jiangnan recalls, dream ten years
Author: South Wind
The first acquaintance with Jiangnan was in the poetry of the ancients. From han le fu's "Jiangnan can pick lotus" to Huang Fusong's "idle dream Jiangnan plum ripe day, night boat flute rain Xiao Xiao." Since then, I have longed for a water town with a river of tobacco, full of city wind, and plum yellow rain.
In the spring of Jiangnan, it is probably the wind blowing fine willows, half a pond of spring water, full of flowers. In the late spring when the plums are yellow, hold up an oil-paper umbrella, go to the stone bridge, see the spring water blue in the sky, and listen to the rain in the painting boat. After the rain, walk through the bluestone paved alleys, and the flowers are falling on the ground. A piece of ground. It is difficult to stay since the spring. That's it, that's it. Even the rain does not know where the spring is going, and the sun is clear and the summer is deep.
In the summer of Gangnam, it rains a lot. At the edge of the sparkling water, counting the colorful colors left by the wind of the years, the gentle Jiangnan, the drizzle of Qianqian, the pillow river, the small bridge flowing water, in the rain lightly covered with a layer of tulle, always let people reverie infinite, imagination, fine rain, falling obliquely, gentle water town. I want to carry a leaf boat, drift on the water, drink plum wine, and when I am "drunk and don't know the sky and water", I will carry a full boat to crush the galaxy.
In Jiangnan in autumn, the sky is high and the clouds are light, and people are idle. There are many alleys in the water village, and people are pillowing the river. The autumn sun sprinkles faintly on the stone steps, a layer of morning mist hangs from the treeside, and red maples and gray-white houses loom in the fog. Red maple, ginkgo biloba, green water, white walls and black tiles, layered and layered, staggered, and the gorgeous Autumn Scenery of Jiangnan blends with each other, not noisy, just beautiful.
Winter in Jiangnan inhabits poetic paintings. A snow fell, and the snowflakes fell on the painting boat in Jiangnan, floating through the cold springs of the skinny mountains in the winter rhyme of Jiangnan, the mountains in the distance were silent, and the lake was cold. The snowflakes in Jiangnan are also delicate, like a petite and feminine woman in white, slowly coming.
The memory of Jiangnan is the small bridge and the flowing water of the people, the spring river water is as green as blue, and the people on both sides of the strait are painting eaves. If you want to hold up a bamboo raft, you shake it and fall into the arms of Jiangnan, into the Jiangnan in Qushuiliu Lane, in the Tang poetry and Song Dynasty, and in the thousand-year-old cultural history. Dip a corner of azure, listen to a long white, inch a Jiangnan dream.
About the Author
Nanfeng, born in a small town in Shaanxi, likes to read, likes the poet Shu Ting, and the index finger. Love all the good in the world.