A snow, the river is secluded

"A Snow, the River Is Secluded" | text: the breeze

"Word by word, cinnabar red heart"

/01/

A snow, the river is secluded. Even the sound of people's heartbeats, as if, can be heard clearly.

I stood on the bank of the Zijiang River, looking at it from east to west, from west to east, thoughtful, concentrated. In a few moments, it was just that I could feel the cold at the foot of the Tianshan Mountain again. Like a snow lotus, like a sacred mountain, as if in a position, that kind of holy land.

If it is for us in the south, in fact, it can be called an extreme cold, because it is not too much. In that far north, Shanghai and Guangzhou, so far, they are more than two thousand kilometers away from us. Yao Ji, of course, was the second journey of my life, when I went to Jincheng, Shanxi, more than 2,000 kilometers (km), in November 2005.

I was 15 years old, when I was there. The milk smell is not dry, but it is just a (hairy) hair child, or a face full of childishness. Starting from Tangxia Town in Dongguan, take a bus to Changping Railway Station, rush to Guangzhou Railway Station, and then buy a train ticket from Zhengzhou, Henan.

Two days and one night, still no seats, still clear, I remember. The train rumbled, and at that time, the uncle of a printing factory owner, went on the second and farthest journey of my life. I still remember the Internet café over there, and I remember the local one called polenta porridge at that time, and the big bowl of pure Jincheng noodles. The noodle restaurant, a large cauldron, and then a set up an iron utensil, a soft kneading soft bullet, put in the white and transparent noodles.

One squeeze, one root, long, long, crystal clear pure handmade noodles, with the steaming heat of the pot mouth, is how to make it.

I went to Jincheng, Shanxi, more than 2,000 kilometers away, took a public telephone, or called a female classmate in my hometown at that time, "Summer Rain".

Since the positive value is 11. In February, the year is approaching. It was only later that I heard that with the six-color wheel turning machine, the master who came with the Jincheng factory said that they were in Jincheng and it was snowing. And it's still big.

/02/

Flying snow jade flowers, full of white, flawless like you. Probably, that's my state of mind at the moment. Quiet and long, the years are quiet, but the only thing missing is you. Even if this thin air is under the snow around it, even breathing will be so clean.

yes! A snow, a gentle ride! At least, even the breathing is clean, and the time is changing, although it is year after year, four, four, three, autumn, and another year of spring, summer, autumn and winter. Yamamoto is carefree, because of the snow white head. People have no worries, but they are encouraged by age. 17 years, maybe this snow of 2022, what I have brought is more nostalgia, at the foot of Huilong Mountain, Longshan Port Area.

Looking at it, the sparkling and ethereal Ziyang River water, all I think of is this mother river, which belongs to the common mother river of the people on both sides of our strait.

Xu is, as people say, the white head is not a snow can be replaced, and the encounter is already signed. The wind blows and snow scatters the old people, and the strange road should only remember the year. But in the name of a passerby, I also wish you a safe future. The Year of the Tiger is auspicious, and the Tiger is mighty. In the tenderness that is tight and not excessive, in the lightness and not excessive magnificence, with a little sadness in tranquility, the ancient simplicity and solemnity of the guzheng are popped out.

One article per article, one book and one person, word by word, cinnabar red heart. On this paper, it is as indifferent as snow, light ink without trace, and water is good for yang.

Image source network, invasion and deletion

author

Pen name: Qingfeng, Confucian Interpretation, member of the Municipal Artists Association, specialization: photography, videography, calligraphy, calligraphy and painting, literature, beloved folk songs and other cultural arts.

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