Qingwei | goodbye, plane tree

It's already the season of sycamore leaves, and it's only now that I'm holding the pen, maybe it's a little late. But the mood is always difficult to calm down, always want to go back to some of the past that can be remembered in the heart, so as not to be forgotten and never remembered again.

In these hurried years, the imprint of this plane tree has been clear and vague, and there have been new births and old age, but the only thing that remains unchanged is that those wide leaves have experienced autumn to spring, spring to autumn. Maybe it was the destiny in the darkness, destined to know me at the end of summer, to know each other in the cool autumn, to accompany the winter snow, but in the end, I had to be different from the spring.

It's the height of summer after spring, but I don't really like the summer in the city. Because of the sea, I always feel that some are too cool, and occasionally it is sweltering and abnormal, which is very unpleasant. It is often not advisable to go out in the morning, and it is cloudy in the afternoon, and later there is some fog, and the sea is more victorious. Fortunately, the rows of plane trees on campus are very leafy, and when there are few pedestrians, you can walk alone from them to go to some dry and hot, and feel refreshed.

I remember the first time I stepped on the campus, I was greeted by the plane tree nestled in the somewhat dilapidated old building. The weather was slightly gloomy, and when I looked up, the shadows of the plane leaves were not clear, but the old bark on the thick trunks and their peeling marks were very clear; the old walls covered by the shadows of the trees, the creeping tigers were about to completely cover the rustic windows; the land under the canopy had not yet fallen idle, and the vegetation along the roadside had long been repaired, losing the appearance of natural growth.

This sycamore forest always hides the vitality and vitality that does not need to be sought, whether it is day or night, there are always some figures, or companionship, or groups of three or five, or single shadows. I am also one of the people who are alone, because I like to let the shadow accompany me alone, which seems a little lonely, but it is not. Standing alone between the winding pavilions, closing your eyes, and feeling the tranquility of immersing your heart and spleen when the light and shadow are swaying, light or dark, can always make your heart feel a lot calmer. What is even more comforting is that there is always a chance to enjoy the comfort of "cicadas chirping in summer, magpies shaking branches".

The end of summer was over, and when the morning breeze became cooler, the swaying shadows of the trees obscured the distance I was looking into. Looking up, the white clouds between the trees cruised alone, and the time of the grass seemed to be erased by the wind of early autumn. After watching it for a long time, I feel more blurry, and I don't know when I can have an exclusive oasis that reflects the white clouds and can make people forget the time. Unfortunately, the autumn of the island city is always not satisfactory, it seems that in the blink of an eye, the haze without rain begins to wait anxiously, not knowing when it will rain some rain to wash away the confusion left by the morning fog; or simply leave silently, once again making the leaf shadow that has been trance linger and wander in the heart... If it's the former, there's a little bit of joy. Probably because I don't like umbrellas very much, so I don't need to escape the bleakness of the drizzle. In the twilight rain, the favorite dusk is difficult to see, and all that can be seen at this time is the youth that has burned and is about to die.

The autumn rain is hazy and the road is full of shadows. When the breeze in the forest blows away all the marks that belong to summer, the woods washed by the autumn rain have some new memories. At this time, the autumn wind stains the sycamore leaves, and the sycamore leaves mess up the green streets. Sycamore! Don't you have any attachment to the shaded streets you once had? That's your year's work! Sycamore, sycamore! Why are you always so silent, so silent that you don't say a word even though you are scarred and dappled. Whenever I encounter this scene, when I walk past you, the dusk after the rain appears clearer, the autumn leaves of the dusk still retain the early morning rain dew, the dusk leaf shadow gently snuggles on the lonely shoulders; the wall at the intersection carries a few traces of confusion of the sunset, and the chaotic branches and leaves play the wordless streets and alleys after the rain. The dim figure may want to know whose autumn rain washes away whose sorrows, and whose silk scarf is dotted with whose tenderness.

Silence does not give answers, and waiting only makes hope drift away. What confirms all this is the gradually redder maple leaves, which are little by little stained with the late autumn treasures of the fallen leaves. This miserable autumn tells the lonely melancholy; the unspoken dew is lost after the late autumn; the afternoon of the dream is broken, alone next to the idle. The idle man was helpless, sitting alone on the cool steps, silently watching. The leaves, one after another, departed, the branches dried up the memory; the night, slowly continued, the darkness erased the joy... The time spent together is always so short, and my wait is always so long, always wanting to get an answer, always wanting to ask: Fallen leaves, where are you going with the wind, can you leave a shadow to drive away the desolation for me?

Autumn in this coastal city is unique, preferring to make the sense of desolation longer, thus making winter a little later than inland hometown. Even when winter comes, the imprint of late autumn can still be inadvertently touched by the afterglow of the corner of the eye, as if touching a sweet shallow dream. I want to thank the plane tree, it was he who made me meet another partner in the past spring, which made my originally somewhat dull life more happy, even if I did not see her at this time, but my love for him has always been pervasive for the four seasons, for her to rejoice when the flowers bloom, and the leaves are remembered when the leaves fall. It's just that this cold wind is slightly merciless, wantonly playing with that good memory, and fiddling with the heart that hopes to be calm.

Mulan! Do you know that the disgust of this cold wind is always a little unscrupulous to turn up the desolate autumn thoughts. At this moment, when I pick up an autumn leaf, your shadow is not in the morning dew of the autumn leaf I have picked up; when your beautiful face is engraved in the morning dew of the autumn leaf, I have not been able to pick it up; when your gaze covers the morning dew of the autumn leaf, the autumn leaf I picked up has entered winter; and when the cold water freezes the future and rotten autumn leaf, your figure has long disappeared, leaving only me alone watching the rise of the sun, melting off the thin ice, silently picking it up in the cold wind. Pick up the memories that belonged to Qiu over there.

The memory is still going on, and the thin branches can only stand helplessly in the corner. I hated myself, I couldn't do anything, let the cold wind outside the window tear at the once tender frost and snow, flying with a hint of wildness; the pine branches swayed the once new green remnants of autumn, throwing away the bullying of the cold wind; the late night fluttered with once leisurely songs, ignoring the wind and dust outside the window. alack! Why spread a gentle white silk to prevent me from going back and returning to the sycamore forest. But this confinement seems to tell me that the plane tree has done everything that should be done, and at this time the sycamore forest is only the rugged branches, because you no longer need the protection of the plane leaves. After this season, I seem to understand something.

In the blink of an eye, the night breeze dissipated, and suddenly looked back, under the lone branches, the light snow was shy. At this time, the snow was a little shy, it was no longer wild, and when the sun rose slightly, she quietly hid among the dry grass, and would not stay too long. It seems that this snow is just a passer-by in my life, and my heart still belongs to the one in the shallow dream. Not long after that, the dried branches were a little more moist, and the sporadic rain had lost the cold feeling that only winter had, and this feeling did not carry a hint of desolation. At this moment, I wondered why there was no soft snow in this drizzle, why I could always see a slightly sad shadow dangling in front of my eyes, I didn't know where to look, only...

Gradually, gradually, the few traces of coldness that remained in the air began to dissipate, and an inexplicable comfort made me feel a little lazy. When I laid my slightly tired body flat on the bed, there seemed to be some kind of low and vigorous voice echoing in my ears, like an old man reminding me: Don't think that after the fall of the late autumn leaves, you can only find a few remnants in the winter snow, in fact, this leaf has been waiting for a new opportunity.

Just in the early morning after a quiet rain, I suddenly found that the spring flowers revealed some pale yellow buds, which did not bloom before they could bloom, but were dotted with stars, which was really gratifying. When the morning light passes through the doors and windows that are still in style, the shadows are printed on the slightly faded wall paintings, and gradually change with the rise of the sun, making the memories in front of me clearer. I knew that soon, her shadow would once again stand in that sycamore forest, looking forward to another unexpected encounter with her.

Spring came too quickly, and it only took three or five days for the vines on the courtyard wall to turn green, the cherry blossoms on both sides of the road to bloom crimson, and the maple leaves in the corners were already red to the girl's happy eyes when she turned. In this regard, I was a little ecstatic, and once again saw the shadow of the tree in my memory, and the confusion at this time was indeed a bit similar to the previous one, but it was less beautiful than the morning dew hidden under the shadow of the tree and the cold autumn feeling of the falling leaves, maybe it was because of my her.

The buds of the magnolia gradually grow and bloom on the branches that do not need to be decorated with green leaves. The blooming white does not lack the tenderness and weakness of milk, nor does it lack the tenacity and freedom of the snow of the northern country; those brilliant reds do not lack the brilliance and heat of fireworks, nor do they lack the shame and elegance of a lady. Whether it's a few branches dotted with mutton fat jade, or a crimson blue sky that greets you. Mulan, this beauty, only you can interpret.

Every season, your figure often walks gently past me, and the fragrance that floats by can always erase me with a little loneliness. Every time I and you unexpectedly met next to the magnolia in the corner, the eyes that touched each other more or less outlined a little shame and smile. It is only this passing of you when there is no word in sight that I believe that there is something more in my memory. I like to quietly look at you under the plane tree around the corner, especially when I see you slightly facing my silhouette. At this moment, I deeply feel that the prosperity of my world cannot withstand the calligraphy and painting-like sunset left between your eyebrows, and the faint stars are about to open the light veil of the moon like jade. I couldn't help myself, fantasizing about the tranquility of a pair of slender jade hands touching the stars, the clear spring-like eyes of the moonlight looming in a trance. I was really drunk, even if the moonlight at this time could barely see the border of the window, but all I saw in my eyes was your picturesque grooming under the stars and moon.

Dreams are always short-lived. In the drizzly morning, there are a few more drops of rain dew between your eyebrows, and you should open an umbrella so that I can know if you are crying. But you are always so willful, you don't like the clear eyes that the umbrella covers you, and your eyes, just a casual glance back, can once again disturb my heart that I am trying to calm down. I want to keep you, but this spring is too short, do not allow the buds to have more than a few days of nostalgia, you just drift quietly, leaving the loneliness in the wind again. When the evening sun turns the corner again, the young sycamore leaves want to cover your branches, seemingly obscuring something, in fact, like me, like the shadow of this dusk, always so thin, slightly sad, but so want to keep.

The night witnessed another farewell to the setting sun; silence, the beginning of another solitude. Tonight I don't know the loneliness of tomorrow night, but tomorrow night I know who I am lamenting for tonight. Mulan! I've never told you that my love for you is so deep that you don't need to make any commitments, because it's already my greatest joy to be there for you. I really don't want to say goodbye to you because, you're everything to me.

Farewell, Mulan, I have remembered your shadow, especially... In a dream.

Thank you, Sycamore, for making me grow, and it was you who made me meet her. You are my witness, and at this time, I do not know what to say, perhaps, I just have to say to you:

Farewell, sycamore trees...

Lu Ningxuan window

The night of July 1, 2015 in the Gregorian calendar

Located in Laoshan Campus of Qingdao University of Science and Technology

book

The night of February 9, 2020 in the Gregorian calendar

At home

recension

One point number Dew condensation window