One night the frogs chirped to dawn
Text | Qiu Fengjiao
Qiu Fengjiao, a teacher at a rural primary school in Lianyuan City, a member of the Hunan Provincial Writers Association, a member of the Hunan Provincial Essay Literature Association, and a student of the 18th Writers Class of Mao Zedong Literature College, has published his works in newspapers and periodicals at all levels.
This article is more than 1600 words
In the starry night, there was a sudden cry from the pond... Is it a prelude to the first frog drum of the Chinese New Year? A little later, the frogs sprang up one after another, one after another, one after another, high and low, like the wind blowing a thousand heavy rice waves, like large beads and small beads splashing on the ink jade plate.
The frog drilled out of the mud hole, perhaps attracted by the sparkling jewel-like stars in the pond, not caring about the slight cold of spring, jumping out of the green grass, in the faint waves, or playing, or solo, or chanting, a small piece of water, or a floating old leaves, a bunch of green cordyceps, as a gorgeous stage, no one around to perform.
The breeze blew away the thin cold, and the trees that were smeared by the starlight to pull out new leaves, the rustic buildings with sudden soft edges, the solar lanterns that illuminated the night of the mountain village, in the eager and complicated frog drum, presented a life force. It seems that everything in the world will close to the beat of the frog drum and the season of the frog's song. One fresh night after another, wrapped in the sound of frogs, came like a wave.
Night color like diluted ink. It seems that a baton is dancing in the dark, and the sound of frogs around the pond rises and falls rhythmically, and the sound waves churn wave after wave. In the prime of the year, frogs lay their eggs in the grass at the water's edge at dawn, fulfilling the solemn mission of taking over life, and focusing on playing a large and harmonious symphony at night. Some frogs are high-pitched and loud, like a powerful drum, full of passion. Some frogs are low and thick, like a magnetic baritone, with a long afterglow. Some frogs are crisp and bright, as if the little girl is laughing and clapping.
This group of frogs, who have crossed the deep and stiff soil to spring, will accumulate winter enthusiasm on the banks of the fields blown by the spring breeze, singing in their unique language, and the sound is fearless. Such frogs would never be played in the moonlight of the city. The sound of frogs is the song of childhood, the song of hometown, the song of the field. Frogs are chirping in their hometowns and should know about their hometown affairs. There are always people who rush in the journey of life, falling into the beauty of the countryside night with a clear breeze and bright moon. The unexpected sound of frogs lifts the listener's tight grip and the soul becomes clear and open.
Someone paced to the edge of the pond, and the footsteps were as light as the wind blowing away a fallen leaf. A frog with bad eyes, but his sense of hearing is so sensitive. The frogs in the pond immediately caught a slight sound and brushed the ground in unison. The people on the shore held their breath and were not upset. After a while, a bold frog shouted loudly, "Whoa! The people on the shore heard that this was a "stone clam" with a particularly large body, well-developed limbs, and green clothes covered with brown patterns.
This frog, called "stone clam", lives in clear water, and the caves by the mountain streams, wells, and ponds make them live in simplicity. Drinking spring water, eating beetle moths, "stone mussels" are thick and tender flesh, very popular with frog catchers, they once became the object of hunting. Being alive is a challenge to life, and as a strong member of the frog clan, the "stone clam" defies all slaughter. Year after year, in the spring, the small black clouds in the aquatic plants are the birth of thousands of new lives.
Perhaps it is the sense of security deep in the mountains that inspires the "stone clams". With a very personal cry, it split the long sky with sound, which triggered the frogs to sing again. Countless frogs call me in response, singing peace with each other. The stars and moon are misty, the grass and trees are fragrant, and the sound of frogs falls like a rainstorm, like a hurricane setting off waves. In the tidal wave of frogs, there is a different kind of hoarse voice, like a person full of heart who is not willing to call. It's the toad's chirp. The toad, draped in a lumpy earth-gray dress and bulging with large, watery eyes, looked clumsy and innocent. In ancient mythology, toads were auspicious. In the paintings of the Han Dynasty, toads have always existed in mythological images and are highly worshipped by people. Neither noble nor lowly has anything to do with the toad's heart, they only know how to pray for a better life with their unique song.
Listening to frogs in the murmur of a stream is a mesmerizing natural sound. The stars faded away, and the night was as smooth and soft as black silk. The stream is shallow and shallow, flowing all the way from the darker depths, and the sound of the water is staggered, like a plain hand playing the piano, endlessly like a wisp. In this beautiful sound of the stream, three or five frogs sang without hesitation. Cicadas drink clear dew and sing in the sparse trees, and frogs lie on the banks of the stream. This penetrating sound, cleaner and simpler than the spring water, reaches the depths of the listener's soul. Take the sound of water frogs as a pillow, lie on the bluestone by the stream for a while, only to feel that the countryside is quiet, the landscape is calm, and all things are compassionate.
The cottages are drummed by the sound of frogs, and the light is meek and quiet in yellow or silver. "In the yellow plum season, it rains at home, and frogs are everywhere in the grass pond. There is about no night and a half, idle knocking chess pieces to drop the lights and flowers. "Looking around, every family is this sentiment. Wonder who they're waiting for? Sprouting rice seeds under plastic film in the countryside? Corn in the soft soil of the mountains? One night the frogs chirped to dawn, and many dreams of spring departure arrived in the distance...