Light and light have been automatically inducted by me, and will automatically illuminate, like shadows, and also sprinkled into my literary text.
I am extraordinarily light-loving, extraordinarily dependent.
During the rainy day, without sunlight, I must turn on the lights, and the table lamp must be on. Not just to read and write, even if it's to go around the room and sit there in a daze, but also to be bright. There are lights in a daze, there are ripples in the heart, a circle of spread, small fish and shrimp jump particularly active. Ordinary people are not big rivers and seas, joy and melancholy are only in a pond-like square circle, there are small fish and shrimp around in a circle, arching warm memories, remembering that there are happy places, a second to come, a minute to pass, just like small fish and shrimp, much more active, jumping up and down. In addition to the year, month, day, and festival, the content on the calendar can also be filled in by yourself, adding a bright mood and making yourself fly.
After graduating from college, when I left my childhood home to build my own home in the college dormitory area, my mother asked me what I wanted to take away, and I pointed to the old red-shrouded desk lamp and said, "It."" ”
On the bus to my new home, I held it all the time, from the east end of the city to the west end.
It had been on my desk ever since, at night and in the gloomy daytime, all lit up.
When I was a child, I did my homework under its light, and later I was reflected by it to write literature, prepare lessons and write lecture notes, and after a long time, the lampshade was old, and the georgette was brittle and broken, and the appearance was depressed. I looked around for a change, but I couldn't find it. It is a classical Chinese design, from the mouth of the high-grade boxwood dragon body, exquisite drop hanging, even if there are a few places of light had to be reflected by the brittle holes, scattered a little haggard, can not pay attention to, but I still have to brighten. It's lit, and many are lit. Fortunately, a loving uncle of mine later helped find the master and made a brand new one almost identically. This uncle was me when he was holding a baby, and he often came to the house as a guest, familiar with the red patch on the table, without words, and understood my heart.
There must be inevitability, and my earliest memories are also related to light.
It was a very small time. Enemy planes coming from that island bombed the power plant. They've come to blow it up, fix it, and blow it up again. They don't want the people here to have lights, they want it to be dark. It was night, and my grandmother hugged me and said to me, Mao Mao, don't be afraid.
The sky outside the window has staggered searchlights. A very long lamppost cut through the sky, dangling around, and a very small child could feel that it was so bright and powerful, and felt safe.
A young child may have deep memories of both black and light. The thrill of the night, the calmness and power of the pillar of light that cut through the darkness, cannot be described at a young age, but it will become a memory. Such memories may not be fascinating, but they are also fascinating, and they are rich in my pond, swimming around.
Later, the planes were chased away by searchlights, and later, I probably fell asleep.
The searchlights defended our lives and my right to grow up. At that time, the family lived close to the power plant, close to the gas plant and the waterworks. It's all those planes that want to blow up, and it's vicious!
Light and light have been automatically inducted by me, and will automatically illuminate, like shadows, and also sprinkled into my literary text.
The boy in the French literary masterpiece The Little Prince left his asteroid and traveled to several other asteroids. One by one, he felt confused, incredulous, and even disgusted. The only thing I felt could appreciate, or even want to stay there, was the planet of the lamplighter. Although the lamplighter does not have his own "thoughts" and behavior mechanisms, his lighting profession is after all bright in meaning, like rising stars, beautifully illuminating the world. Although his planet is extraordinarily small, small is also the world.
The man who lit the lamp was the most certain person the little prince had ever met on his asteroid journey, with the logic of life, and the little prince wanted to be friends with him.
Everyone has their own small pond, asteroid, staying in their own small circle, and connecting with the world. People like us who are counted as writers, others think that you are very good, in fact, you have written some stories, told some experiences, talked about moods, whether completely true or purely fictional, are the scenes and sounds that will reach the eyes and ears of others. A little lighter, a little darker, will make different ripples in others. I only chose to talk about a little bright people and things, it is my philosophy, aesthetics, so obviously it is a very difficult time, there are heavy and scarred, I try to jump between the words in my pen. In any year, there are sunny weather, dark joy, and kind intentions, and I don't like to stand under the dark clouds, angrily and angrily with the path I have traveled, the footprints I have stepped on, and let others read it. What I decided was: all real, but warmer, more beautiful, more poetic... There is hard to have big truths, but there are small lights!
Light can also be written. It's like playing in the middle of the melody, painting in color.
I had been to the small town of Paris, stepped into the small building where Van Gogh lived, the dark staircase, the small room, a small skylight, the days were poor, the money for bread was not enough, there was not much brightness. But he sat in the wheat field in fascination and painted, and the golden color was overwhelming! Was it just the impression of the golden yellow he saw with his eyes, or was there a golden growth and bloom in his heart? Finding the angle of light, writing and painting the life and the world illuminated by light and shadow is another great meaning of literature and art, encouraging life and years, and making the mood bright.
In those years of being a young man on the farm, the days were a bit uncertain. A small bungalow dormitory, with six or seven people. A faint light bulb hung in the center of the roof and spilled out through the tent in front of everyone, leaving only fainting. There were a very few people who brought a small desk lamp and secretly connected the wires and lit them on the bedside. It was against the rules, but the leaders did not forcibly confiscate it, and their eyes opened and closed as they lit up. The words in the song, which is very powerful but singing slowly: "Three hundred and sixty-five miles, three hundred and sixty-five days are spent year after year, one day, one journey," I don't know when it is the head. The young man's wish to shine some light at the head of the bed was tolerated. Just a little kindness that's easy, how many nights it's bright and warm.
Those who let the bedside light up want light, and those who open their eyes and close their eyes also have light in their hearts. Goodwill is light. Let people be bright, and they are also bright, and they all become bright people.
Who loves the light is not only a so-and-so person!
They write letters to their parents under the light, read books and newspapers, and dream of nothing but humming and working hard during the day...
I didn't have much courage, I didn't dare to take it, but I always looked at it enviously when I walked by, and my heart beat slightly.
Now that I think of that slight beating, it is still beautiful and a little sad.
Because I read and wrote on the small board every night under the dim light in the tent, and I inadvertently prepared for the future.
Dim lights are also lights.
So I also prepared for tonight's writing. In the light of the old table lamp wrote the light. (Mei Zihan)