○ Yin Zhenliang
In the spring, he was dragged back from the hands of the ice pier by the buffalo at the mouth of the village. The wilderness is like the kindergarten that my daughter attends in the New Year, and everything comes alive.
In the spring, there are stages everywhere. On the hillside, between the fields, on the banks of streams and rivers, foreign and earthy, all kinds of things. The spring breeze is like a director, under the illumination of the spring sun, waving a pair of giant hands, unveiling a gripping program list in the vast world.
Spring thunder rings the gong and drum, wakes up the frogs, wakes up the stinging insects, wakes up the sleeping weasels, small white rabbits, and pheasants in the mountains, and tells them to run in the wilderness and feel the new spring atmosphere. The spring rain is pouring, like the hair of the mother draped over the top of her head, flowing and colorful, kissing the dead branches that have been destroyed by the winter frost and snow for a long time, kissing the wheat seedlings and snow bean vines that crawl on the ground, and kissing the mangosteen shoots that have just drilled out of the dirt and wearing small pointed hats.
Spring is a paradise for art. Pulling back the gray curtain in winter, the lark, who is good at hosting, walked to the front of the stage in red and green, showing the stunning lines of the four seasons such as Jiamu Huanrui, Melon, Lan Hui and Mao, and sent blessings and wishes to people and to the earth.
Zi Yunying, who took the lead in standing in the center of the stage, wearing a purple doctor's hat, twisting her thin waist, flourished by the lake and between the mountains, showing people the girlish reticence and charm of the heart, drunk with the golden lion monkey, drunk with Nan Guiyan, drunk with "a smoke and rain for a peaceful life" of the old man. The rape flowers at the mouth of the village, this thousand-year-old "village woman", not willing to be lonely, stirred up the girl's madness, greased and powdered, will always shine in the prelude to spring, dancing a piece of golden yellow silk scarf, in the fields, hillsides, vegetable beds, singing "The Story of Spring", "Sister You Boldly Go Forward" and other songs, attracting bees to sing, butterflies to dance.
The fields at the mouth of the village began to move in the cries of cuckoos. The thick old farmer riveted his strength, picked up the three-foot wooden hammer in his hand, stepped on the notes of spring, jumped up the new version of disco on the field mound, and carved a line of oracle-like poems on the side of the dam, shaking the of the harvest in the past year and shaking the family's life. Tired, sitting cross-legged on the head of the circle, pulling out the filial piety cigarettes of his children and grandchildren before the New Year, "bar click bar click" spit out a string of smoke rings, as if the magic master was staging a double reed play. The weed-stained aunt in the field untied the windproof paw wrapped around the top of her head, unbuttoned the collar button in front of her neck, and let the fragrance emitted by the soil and the sweet fragrance emitted by the flowers and grasses of the field bank spread on her face, opening the hope of opening her stomach, step by step inserted on the fertile soil under her feet, and inserted in the warm spring sun.
The river at the mouth of the village is a flowing stage, and the village women beat the mallet in their hands and rhythmically beat the songs of spring. A group of water ducks use their red palms to pluck the waves on the strings of the river, enjoying the warmth of spring lightly, and sometimes on the river surface of the "Spring River Plumbing Duck Prophet", stretching their necks, like ballet dancers dancing on the surface of the water; Sometimes he plucks his tail and dives into the water to perform the mouth kung fu of cormorant fishing. Cardamom, returning from school, pushed the small paper boat full of innocence and dreams into the river, smiled on his back, and looked at the water grass by the stream, the willows on the riverbank, looking into the distance, while shouting the singer Bian Xiaozhen's "Spring Water Ding-Dong", while rolling up his pants legs, inserting his feet into the riverbed, chasing fish and shrimp and crabs in the water, letting the children's hearts rub into the river, blending into the mother's ding-dong, father's expectations.
The spring stage is large and is a hollowed-out performing arts venue. In the green rice fields, frogs and golden cicadas chanted "Say Good Year in the Fragrance of Rice Flowers" and listened to the sound of grass seedlings tillering. The weasel with a long tail in tow, shuttles through the fields, waiting for the rabbit, catching prey, scaring away the voles and scaring away the pheasants. On the green grass, a flower umbrella was propped up, the sun froze, the breeze stopped, and the two figures overlapped into a gorgeous landscape, blushing peach blossoms, blushing peonies, and blushing cockscomb flowers.
The spring stage is large, an enlarged studio. Birds sing, flowers clap, streams play the piano, green grass opens the mattress, invites the "sunshine baby" to rush down and roll, let confidence and vitality grow into a forest and splendid fields, harvest years, harvest products, harvest dreams.