Wen | Mengshan woodcutter
Snow is a gift of the seasons. The lonely wilderness has become a fairy tale world because of the flying snowflakes. The Southern Song Dynasty's Wumen Hui Kai Zen Master's "No Door Guan" said: "Spring has a hundred flowers and autumn has a moon, summer has a cool breeze and winter has snow, if there is no idle thing to worry about, it is a good season in the world." "Good mood is to enjoy the snow. Snow is my expectation, a night of cumulus clouds, turned into flying snow. One after another, two in a row, one after another, they all flew up, as if there were a pair of giant hands on the heavenly curtain, sowing flying qiong broken jade to people without stinginess. Standing on the balcony, the mountains in the distance, the trees nearby, the wide river, are all covered with white veils. Between these mountains and rivers, there is no need to hold a grand ceremony. The rows of houses in the village were covered with "Qiongyu" this morning, and the frugal old family rarely enjoyed some of the luxury given by heaven. It was all happening silently, everything was in the dream of snow. Come quietly, without any sound; go quietly, let people be unconscious. It's snow style. I love to see the snow-covered wheat fields, the hibernating wheat fields dreaming of growing up. I like to look at the snow-covered countryside, the roof that has been modified by "Qiongyu", and at such a time, the earthen house bungalow in the countryside is transformed into a temple-like luxury.
The heavens and the earth are white, and this snow day will certainly not be monotonous, bringing us too much happiness. When I was a child, it was also this wheat field, and after the heavy snow, I asked my partner to pick up dung. A piece of dung frozen in the snow can be seen from a distance, which is the treasure in the minds of children, and everyone chases and runs to grab it. Even the best friends sometimes fight over this lump of dung. After the battle, although the face was red, it was good for a while, and then they went to the forest by the River, and everyone worked together to catch a hare foraging in the snow. The snow is very thick, the hare that is good at running, how can not run, in the snow it can only jump and jump, surrounded by partners, let the hare in the snow how to pick holes, can not hide.
Snowflakes are gentle, but once the wind is borrowed, the sharp momentum is enough to make people stumble and fall to the ground. Children love snow, so we put on the "grass nest" made of reeds on the banks of the river, step on the crisp sound of snow, jump in the wind and snow to catch the flying snowflakes, or throw the snow balls up, and snowball fights are the children's favorite. In the snow, the small hands that were frozen red, the lips that were breathing hot, and the deep foot sockets. This is the work left by the children in the endless snowy field, and this snowy day is a children's festival.
Snow is a pure girl, I don't know when ice and snow and smart combined, said girls all say "ice and snow smart". It seems that this snow is flattering. Otherwise, how do people like to use such beautiful words to praise beautiful and lovely girls? What a mood it is to have a red plum in the snow! "Mei Susun snow is three points white, but the snow loses plum incense." A plum blossom blooms when the sky is full of snow, "plum blossoms rejoice in the snow". Enjoy in the snow, the flying snowflakes fall on your forehead, fall on your lips, and feel that this ice girl is going to kiss you. Can you not spring? The snow in this village is really used for aesthetics. Whether it is years of roof grass or newly replaced tiles, the snow is thick and thick, and the sun shines. The water dripping under the eaves is frozen, and the long "slip handle" is taken down by the child and can be played as a machine gun. Snow fell in the wheat fields, and the hope of a good year took root in the heart. In the year of Ruixue Mega, this snowflake was given the name of "Rui" by the villagers, and the villagers loved snow. Fearing that the snow would be wasted, a shovel of snow was brought to the wheat field, and the snow guarded the dream of the growth of the wheat seedlings.
Snow is virtuous, and it is also attached to the land of its hometown. It doesn't give impetuous people a chance. The snow that fell into the city soon melted, and the snow that had not had time to melt away, the fate was miserable, under the rolling of the wheels, twisting its body painfully, turning into dirty water, long gone crystal clear and pure. The best looking snow is still in the countryside, in the villages, in the fields.
Watching the snow from the balcony is always not fun. I came to the edge of the ground, the snow-covered wheat field, the green wheat seedlings, hiding my tender hands under the "snow quilt". This is its hotbed, this is its swaddling. Not only the wheat seedlings, but also the insects and frogs hidden deep under the wheat seedlings, they dream happily in their warm holes. I know that these insects, the singers of these seasons, sing vigorously in the summer, until autumn, still endless charity performances, really tired, they are also hiding under this "snow quilt" at the moment, resting their strength, rehearsing new songs, enjoying their dreams. It's not just me who likes to dream, but also these partners.
Used to walking in the alleys of the village, the birds and finches of the old trees called for friends, were they cheering the snowflakes or calling me? I recognized them, the birds of my childhood, the sound of the feathers flying, so familiar. That old tree, that branch that stretches out into the sky, is the home of the birds. I really admire these birds, who have built warm nests before the wind and snow come. Heavy snow blocks the door, the owner has not opened the door, there is no trace on the snow, the birds are busy, are they preparing food for the family?
I was also ashamed to see this bird. Little friends often put up a bamboo sieve, tie a long rope, and sprinkle some grain to trap the hungry birds. Those birds and finches who came to feed finally could not resist the temptation, pecking at the bottom of the sieve, and when the rope was pulled, the sieve buckled these birds and finches. The children cheered and jumped for their wisdom, and the bird reached the children's hands, which was a very intimate play. Happy are the children, sad are the birds. I clearly saw a look of sadness in the eyes of the birds and finches, and this sadness turned into stubbornness, a determination to die unyieldingly. However, I was overwhelmed by the pleasure of this capture, and where would I think about the birds? It was forty years later that I remembered the bird's eyes, and it was my sin, and I was ashamed, and I repented, and perhaps its children were still waiting for this food to fill their hungry intestines. However, the foraging mother could not be retrieved. Whenever the birds and finches chirp at me, I wonder if this is denouncing me?
In the alleys in the corners, in the fields, on dirt roads, in the seclusion, snowflakes gather here. Snow is a place that does not like to be noisy, and in the countryside, snowflakes leave layers of white. Walking in the village, I feel the nobility of the snow, do not seek floating names, do not seek luxury, do not choose high and low, do not choose fertility and barrenness, in remote corners, in the boundless wilderness, moisturizing spring.
I lived in the hustle and bustle of the city for thirty years, always missing the earthen walls and grass houses of my childhood. I used to have a small courtyard with all kinds of vegetables to feed the chickens. But back to the hometown, the grass house has long been gone, and the building developed in the village is on the edge of the field. This old building is no different from the city, because in the field of my hometown, it can soothe my heart to some extent.
There are very few townspeople in the village who walk in the snow like me. There will be no more children like me who scramble to pick up dung in the snow. There was no mud, no feces, the streets were wider and the roads were clean. The snow in the countryside is falling quietly, there are fewer children playing in the snow, there are fewer children chasing in the snow, this snow is still the children's stage, and the joy in the snow is still the love of the children. The snow is still bold, giving the earth a rich gift for this season, bringing the hope of a good harvest to the villagers, bringing fresh air to the countryside and blue sky.
Snowflakes flutter outside the window, and flowers and plants flourish indoors. Watching TV, looking out the window at the wilderness, this winter and spring, only separated by my window ledge. The Opening of the Beijing Winter Olympics in the Spring Festival, the Lantern Festival is still sowing enthusiasm. Just at this moment, there was a heavy snow in the sky, thinking that the snow and red lights were really beautiful. Even more beautiful is the snow master of this piste. This snow is really loved by people who like it, this snow master from the world, but people who have played tricks in the snow since childhood are worthy of this flying snow. In the snow, the wind sped down. Is it a snowy mountain flying fox? Is it an extraterrestrial cyclamen? That churning and dancing posture is the real snow elf. This crystal snow and this fire are as passionate as this fire, staging a stunning beauty. Today's snow comes with the festival. When encountering snow events, there are always some excitement, some affectionate memories, always some stories hidden in the heart for decades, and always some expectations for the future. For the new years, for the snowflakes of the times, for the hopes of the future, I use words to "leave this picture" for this snow.
(Written on February 15, 2022, the 15th Lantern Festival of the First Month of the Year of the Tiger in the Lunar Calendar)
About the Author:
Chen Kai: Pen name Mengshan Woodman, member of the Communist Party of China, member of the Chinese Essay Literature Association, member of the Shandong Writers Association, member of the Shandong Provincial Prose Literature Association, member of the Linyi Writers Association, and vice chairman of the Pingyi County Writers Association. "Chinese Rural Writer" certified by the China Rural Talent Pool, Qilu Evening News, Qilu One Point Qingwei Supplement Signed Writer.
One point number Mengshan woodcutter