Original author: Zhang Zhaoming| Inner Mongolia Alxa League
Waiting for that snow fall in winter
Pushing open the door, there is a vast fog in front of you, and the fog is a rare landscape in the arid and barren desert hinterland. The thick fog spread out, confining everything to a visible range of fifty or sixty meters, and even farther away there was only a vague outline. Everywhere is damp, wet, spreading the solemnity all over the wilderness, some of the hints of snow, people can't stop the snickering of the heart, long lost winter snow, we have been waiting for a long time.
But after several consecutive days of overcast, the stubborn sun began to sharpen again, and there was never a single star or a half of snowflakes falling. The snow in the surrounding areas had been racing to the end, had begun to melt, and under the clear sky of the rising sun and the crescent moon that had not fallen, it was muddy, and only here it was long forgotten.
The sky is still that heaven, and the earth is still that piece of land, as if it exists forever. The uninformed closeness of the snow once again extinguished the eager expectations, leaving a trail of sorrow and no chance to pass by.
It is nearly the new spring, people are gradually approaching the taste of the New Year, the atmosphere is slowly becoming cheerful, and the spring has begun to break the dictatorship and blockade of the cold winter, secretly sprouting, and the snow is still in the future. Is it true that the thin snow in the early winter is really going to be the only one in this winter, just like the fleeting encounter in the emotional world of many people.
Is it that it is too small, too remote, and the snow has no time to cover up the fragmented and scattered turbidity here? Or this winter is not cool enough. Can't keep the snow rushing? Why do I wrap myself up like a brown, or feel the cold constantly coming, shivering uncontrollably.
Knowing this, I should have collected some of the snow, stored it in a sealed jar, and placed it in a sunlit corner until it melted into water, turned green, and was not easily thrown away. Because it is the snow after the sea, it is the snow that has witnessed the winter, and if you miss it, you will have to wait a long time before you can meet again.
In the land of the north, the white snow is the most striking symbol of winter, and it is also the most dazzling decoration of the cold and boring, dancing in the silent and lonely world. And I stood alone under the endless sky in the north, still waiting for the arrival of snow, ready to continue to write countless Frozen.
Is it because my heart is not religious enough, is it because I am mysterious and artificial, which has aroused the resentment of Xue? Is it because I haven't gone far enough to step into the glow of the snow? Should I take the last train of the Snow Country all the way north and then north, until I am close to its marginal line, so that I can feel the blessings of its incarnation and the existence of the dying?
Accustomed to the cold, dry rope, and depression in the winter, I am used to the helplessness and waiting in the winter, but there are always some reluctance, unwillingness, and unwillingness in the heart. Some people say that ice is sleeping water, and snow in the north is a dream frozen in winter, the ice is still there, the snow has not fallen, what is the dream garden?
Why the images of snow are left a long time ago, why the snow is always piled up in the haze of childhood. Could it be that my soul and my already twilight body have been parting ways? Always maverick floating in the memory of the past, once walked through but never pulled out of the whirlpool.
I want to go south, in the coldest and most hopeless season. In a small town surrounded by mountains and rivers, I found a remote and quiet tavern, with a table, the same pot of old wine as a companion, listening to Wu Yuenong, who seemed to understand non-understanding, chewing the traces of time and time, looking at the extreme place by the railing, silently waiting for the snow to fall quietly. If, at this time, in the warm spring of the South, I saw an unexpected snow, I would be ecstatic, and I would embrace it with all my passion, kiss its gorgeous wetness, and express my love unscrupulously.
Will the snow in the next winter still make me look forward to it so much? Is it still a disappointment after disappointment. All of this may be unwarranted extravagance, or it may be just a futile increase in annoyance. Perhaps there is no need to worry about the sky, the snow in the north does not have to wait, and it will come as scheduled.
January 2022
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Zhang Zhaoming, a member of the Alxa League Writers Association, an employee of Zhongyan Inner Mongolia Chemical Industry Co., Ltd., and a forestry engineer. With the life experience of the year of destiny, he likes to use spicy brushstrokes to reveal the good and evil of human nature, and to taste the magnificence of the homeland with a grateful state of mind.