【Rain falls, all things live】 Author: South Wind
The years are spring, the drizzle is falling, the grass and trees are sprouting, the earth is springing, everything is brewing, and there is a beautiful hope for spring. The courtyard dipped in a stroke of spring, and splashed ink in exchange for a rain in Jiangnan. In Jiangnan, the spring breeze drizzles, and the laughter under the eaves.
Coinciding with a hazy spring rain in Jiangnan, how many past events dissipated in a rain of smoke. In this rainy day, it is suitable for missing, missing a period of past clouds. For no reason, I remembered a sentence: "XiaoLou listened to the spring rain one night, and the ming dynasty in the deep alley sold apricot blossoms." "The poet Lu You lived in a small building, listened to the spring rain all night, and in the morning he would hear a cry from the depths of the alley selling apricot blossoms.
The spring rain is like wine, drunk qingshan, into the Fangfei. Rain drips down the eaves, move small bamboo stools, and listen to the rain under the eaves. I remember the poet who wrote: "The eaves after the rain, sure enough, are the most suitable for wind chimes, and you see from the window that the wind has just sprouted the sound of tender buds, very light." "Wait for the rain to stop.
The time is about to step on the threshold of March, and spring has only just begun; but the shadows of the flowers on the mountain in the distance seem to be heavy and heavy, and who does not expect the mountain flowers to fill the garden in spring. The water vapor is thick, the mountains are near and far, the forest is green and yellow, the water surface is flat and wrinkled, the wind is urgent and slow, and the heart is cold and warm.
Walking up the trail after the rain, the fragrance of the earth comes to the nose. There are not many flowers falling in the soil of the new rain in the early spring, and it is not a pity to step on it. The mud left my deep and shallow footprints, like the window sill of the years, with rain scattered and a poem falling. I pick up the past in the poem, how many wind flowers are firmly fixed in a dusty thought, how many raindrops will be wet in the dream of paper kites.
In this season when the rain is scattered and everything grows, keep your love for life and strive to go to the next mountain and sea.
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.
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