Spring is a run word
Li Li
At dusk in the spring, the mist of the mountains overlooking the Qinling Mountains is shrouded in an indescribable blue-purple soft light. I know that this hue comes from the subtle changes brewed by wet nature.
How many painters and poets have tried to capture the infinitely subtle tonal changes of this landscape, and the hidden tremor of objects immersed in the invisible "qi", which stirs up everything in the universe...
We humans are also part of all things in nature, and we can also feel the changes in this moisturization. Of course, rural life is much wetter than urban life, but even living in a reinforced concrete forest, such a dry modern city, every year after the spring, it still feels different immediately. In fact, at this time, there was no spring breath in the northern cities, but the wind was really different, and the wind seemed to be wet at once, blowing on the face, neck, and back of the hands, gently and softly. Every spring, as soon as the wind blew, I was throbbing, as if something was going to happen. At night, although the moonlight of the spring night is silver, it is not cold and white, and the tentacles are ice, but gently caressed with warmth, beautiful and intentional, and ironed. Looking up, the moon is vast, so it contains tenderness. The ancient moon that has gone through thousands of years, leisurely, walking alone in the sky, sprinkles countless roofs, windows, and courtyards with a silver white, making people smoke and everything moisturizing.
Spring is a "run" word, and the spring breath that comes to the face is moist.
Thinking of Zhou Zuoren's essay "Spring in Beiping", I can't see any moving spring scenery in Beiping throughout, but I am just looking for it. However, after searching for a long time, it seems that he has not found it: "Beiping still has his spring in the end, but it is too panicked, and it is a little less moist, so that people sometimes have no time to taste his taste." "The spring in the north, as heroic as a man, is rough in the sandstorm style, and has less of the plumpness of jiangnan spring, so Zhou Zuoren feels that it lacks some taste, in his opinion, Peking is almost no spring."
In the spring, the land is moist, tender and green, the spring water is babbling, overlooking the end of the flat, the peaks are towering, rolling, and the pine forests in the mountains are faintly in the light smoke. The cities in which we live have also become moist. The streets, squares, shopping malls and shops in the city are all inexhaustible, cookie-cutter and modern buildings, what a blunt man-made thing! But when a spring rain begins to brew, the sky above all the inhabitants of the city, like the soft gray breasts of a hen, gracefully maintains a posture of imminent detachment. The rain poured down, and the fine spring rain was like the thread spun by the spring girl. Spring rain runs flowers, clears the canal and pours rice, of course, also moisturizes everything in the city. On the way to work, people slowed down and began to wander casually, walking in the rain, not wanting to take an umbrella, but like a seedling, drawing on the drizzle, until the face and shirt were wet, and they were satisfied.
In the spring, all the organs on the body seem to suddenly awaken, wanting to see, touch, smell, hear, and even taste every flower leaf, every drop of rain and dew, everything becomes watery, tortuous and flexible. I even believe that the moonlight of a spring night is scented, a delicate, deep smell like flowing water, and if one day I am blind, I can also discern the night of the nightingale's cry without error by smell alone—those moist nights.
When I think of spring, the boundless silk rain falls in my heart, and my hair gets wet in the rain. Nameless wildflowers, protruding from the corners of the wall, with the vitality hidden in winter, inadvertently infiltrate everything in the world little by little.