Perhaps because urban life is too crowded, more and more people are beginning to yearn for a quiet and secluded life, yes, who would not yearn for it?
Look at the round of the unrounded bright moon, gradually rising into the sky. A transparent gray cloud, faintly obscuring the moonlight, above the early morning field, it seems to be caged with a light smoke, wisps, like a falling dream. After the evening clouds drifted by, the smoke and fog on the fields dissipated, and the starlight like water washed away the soft autumn night.
Thinking of all this, looking at the noisy car whistles in the city, the zebra crossings that are always congested on the commute to work, and the stars that never seem to appear under the dark sky, if they can get out, who would want to stay in such a reinforced concrete-wrapped world?
Because of this desire of people, in recent years, there have been more and more books recording the time of mountain residence, and the most attractive to me is Fu Fei's "The Mountains Are Late".
Fu Fei is an interesting person, he sneaked from the city to the foot of the Ronghua Mountain in northern Fujian, returned to nature, experienced the integration of man and nature, felt the same frequency resonance between man and the outside world, examined the cycle of life, and studied the laws of nature. He observes the stars, the moon, the sunset, the rainstorm, the rainbow, the clouds, the snow - in the face of the vast universe, he feels that he is just a drop in the ocean, he protects nature, respects nature, enjoys nature, and lives a kind of "picking chrysanthemums under the eastern fence, leisurely seeing the South Mountain" free life, he carefully recorded this life in the hidden mountains, and today's "Deep Mountains Are Late".
Every year, the most anticipated thing is to go home for the New Year, the endless wheat fields in the fields, the cooking smoke slowly wafting under the shade of the trees, accompanied by three or two birds, four or five dog songs, the day of vigor officially began.
Fu Fei also has a fragment of waking up leisurely in the mountains in the text.
Three or two birds were chirping, and the sky was shining, and they began to crow. Cry out in a cold, gentle voice. I get dressed and get up. I don't know what birds are calling or what they're calling. Listening carefully to the birds, it seems very kind, as if to say: "It is dawn, see the light, come and see." "I boiled water and sat on the third floor terrace drinking a big bowl. The terrace was wet and wet with dew, and the jujube trees across the road were shaky, and the branches stretched out to my terrace. The green jujube leaves are dense, and the jujube flowers are finely decorated on the branches. Loquat tree next to the date tree, loquat tree full of trees, orange and yellow. A few birds jumped in the clouds in the loquat trees. The bird is small, clever, with a brownish yellow belly, a faint dark red upperpart, and a short and called beak. When the bird is calling, it raises its head and flaps its wings.
The house is on the side of the hill, which is overgrown with shrubs, fir and miscanthus. The road bends at the bottom of the mountain to bend the clouds, around the ridge. The cypress tree is on the right side of the house, tall and strong, with a canopy like a cover. The crown cover is half covered, covering the creek. On the side of the creek is a field. The field has been uncultivated for many years, and there are many sorrels, plantains, annual puffs and dog tail grasses.
I stood on the edge of the terrace, overlooking. The ridgeline is exposed, and the undulating lines are soft. The mountains are hazy, and the remnant moon on the edge of the sky is still there. The moon is like a flake of ice. Not far away from the river, silently passing away. Every morning, I hear birds and get up and don't look at what time it's. The clock loses its meaning. I don't have a concept of a date, I don't know what day of the week it is, I don't care what day of the week I do, and I don't ask what time it is. The date I care about is the solar terms. The solar terms are the stations that rotate through the year: the horses are settled, and the boats on the docks are set off. In fact, early in the morning, I have nothing to do. Even if there is nothing to do, sitting on the terrace or walking on the path, people are comfortable. The early morning birdsong became my alarm clock, beeping, eagerly urging me to get up.
Fu Fei loves to deal with the land, peppers, tomatoes, golden melons, white jade beans, pumpkins, lentils, cucumbers, winter melons, potatoes, daily food, he planted them all over again, until the day when the tomatoes began to pick, picked a bamboo basket full, bought a few fresh grass carp, and three or five friends gathered to drink a lot, talking about the leisurely years in the mountains, how not to envy such a day.
The days in the mountains are quiet and long, and after a long time, people become more and more dependent, Fu Fei wrote in the text: I hate the city more and more, and the city makes me anxious, anxious, and insomnia. I hated the smiling faces that came out of the wine, hated cars, hated shopping malls, hated asphalt roads, hated plastic, hated computers and mobile phones, hated cement and steel bars, hated couriers, hated banks, hated news. They split people into fragments and squeezed them into a bunch of monsters. Ronghua Mountain quieted me down. Trees can talk, grass can talk, birds and fish can talk. The river can talk, the moonlight can talk, and the mud can talk. They use color, sound, texture and temperature to talk to us and understand each other. The hardest thing in a person's life is to understand how they are born.
To be honest, when I read this book, I always fantasize that there will be a day when I can live such a mountain life, there is a big yard, a lush plane tree in the yard, brew a pot of tea, lie on a rickety rattan chair, look at the sky like water Moonlight sprinkled the earth, the stars in the sky are within reach, and my mother behind me is calling me, the night is cold, come back to bed early, tomorrow morning we will go to the mountain to pick fruit.