In the afternoon, I stopped quietly and looked at the flowers that had withered in late spring and the trees that had pulled out the yellow branches and leaves in the summer, and the wind passed, the falling flowers rose and the leaves sounded faintly. It seems to tell a faint story. The tung tree pulls out its buds, and the pale green goose yellow is gradually replaced by emerald green. The leaves of the gardenia also spread out like a green canvas, covering the earth. Sunlight dappled through the sparse leaves and shattered to the ground.
No matter how persistent people are, they can't pick it up. The air was covered with fine dust, and its teeth and claws flew in the sun. I walked quietly on the road, the slightly hot dusk, on the still crisp field, quietly looking at the golden wheat waiting to be harvested, this square world, it seems to be my world. Simple people tend to have happiness more easily. I wanted to paint this beautiful and reassuring landscape with thick and beautiful oil paint.
Time flows slowly in silence, and the tung trees are already producing dense leaves, opening up the greenery for people. Gardenia also blooms with quiet white flowers, which are fragrant. The sky became blue, and the clouds bloomed brilliantly on it. The mind is knotted in the years, the heart begins to be uneasy, time is walking, and some walking is also doomed to helplessness. The story, after a thousand sails, just to wait for an eternity.
If you are, life is a delicate flower that blooms in the red dust of ten zhang, but you bloom in the late spring and I bloom in the middle of summer. Then there will never be a consummation between you and me. I also thought that the man who sat in the depths of the years with a low brow and a shallow smile, the temperature from his palm was enough to melt the lonely and stubborn snow in my heart, penetrate the layers of ice, and let me see the wings of spring. However, how dare I easily reach the flowers that bloom far away in the depths of the years?
Yang Liuyi's expectations eventually became the empty space of fireworks alleys. Life is like water, forgive my cowardice, I don't want to just linger for the smoke of the past life, I only wish that the dust settles. I carried my light bag and began the next season of walking. Life, always stop and go, through this floating summer light, looking out of the car window gradually away from the scenery, I heard, the sound of the whistling of the years. Looking at the various people in the car, tired, joyful, contented, resentful, in their pupils, also reflected my shadow.
Suddenly, I hope that the train will keep going like this, don't stop, until the end of the years. However, this is unlikely, and I will eventually reach the smoke and dust of other places. Strange cities, shaking crowds, slowly learn to forget, only fade the past to the bottom of the heart, only with a smile to cover up all sadness. It only turns the hometown into a thin symbol, hidden in the depths of the dust. Years, so easily salvaged you and me, leaving only dappled memories.
If life is really like this, the sound of the years always makes me forget the way I came, facing the fading moon, facing the depressed scenery, facing the fear of the unknown, facing my inability to reach, please forgive me for my coolness, please allow me to use the brush, behind the fading glitz, to depict the warm past under the tung tree, depicting the plain white and fragrant gardenia. Paint your own original story, paint a picture of hope.
Wait until the flowers are full of branches, until the wind stops in the incense, in the floating light of the flowing years, please allow me to stop and watch. Through the summer, through the unknown, waiting for the next time the sky is old. Perhaps, there are too many unknowns in life, but I still stubbornly believe that there will be a pure land for me to stay, in the middle of summer, my heavens and the earth will be old.
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