The wind is soft, the rain is smooth, the clouds are floating, and the sound of the waterfall heard yesterday is still in the ear, suspected in the dream.
In fact, it seems to be a dream rather than a dream.
Having spent half his life out of the green, convinced of his own maturity, coupled with the fact that mr. from time to time reminds him, no longer like a naïve child, picking flowers in his hand, exclaiming their beauty, nor like the big mother, laughing and dressing up with the flowers in the same mirror. Today there is no sunshine, walking on the road full of flowers, sniffing deeply, the clusters, pieces, or dense turns, or stars, flowers that are blooming, some can not be named, some are only familiar, pleasing to the eye, refreshing. In my eyes, some petals are fluttering fireworks, some petals are beating notes, some petals are like my life, rich in color, sometimes exciting, sometimes contemplative, sometimes reverie, seeing plants bloom rare flowers, will show a surprised expression, ripples in the heart.
First the visual impact, then lingering, watching the flowers and ferns, letting their dark fragrance follow. Like some inadvertent discoveries, like those flowers and trees that can't be named, take some close-up photos, graffiti a few cool words and thin sentences, share with people who are related to themselves, is it a mature performance? Maybe the fading body is not allowed?
In any case, under the sky after the rain, the island looks like a faint and indifferent ink painting, close to see the new green, fresh and bright of spring, deeply appreciate this idyllic freshness, quietly appreciate the picturesque realm of flowers and moons, is an ultimate romance, our romance.
The mountain roads on madeira, in addition to the tunnels, usually wide and narrow sheep gut trails, bumpy and rugged, even the asphalt road is also winding and undulating, in the vicinity of the hotel is no exception, walking around a circle, in addition to paying attention to the eyes, but also pay attention to the footsteps, a little inattentive, will plant and fight, Mr. shouted "Be careful", I will take it seriously, at this time, the possibility of my falling is naturally greater than his, men drunk women drunk flowers. Drunken flowers are one, and drunken scenery is the second. Along the way, you can see, the houses built on the terrain are also quite attractive, seemingly impossible, whether new or old, they are like hanging pavilions, the appearance is also extremely luxurious, the red glazed tiles with various colors of the wall, how to look like a mansion, feel that the people who live on the island are very rich, if not to see how people build houses, but really think that it is a building block house, transported from the mainland. The plants on the surrounding cliffs, from miniature to giant, firmly rooted in fertile soil, or stone crevices, sending sunset, welcoming the sunrise, repeating the years, renewing life, full of confidence, unswerving.
It's May, it's not hot on the island, it still feels cold when you put on a long pants sweater, and you don't feel hot when you put on your coat. Warm clothes are less, the temperature is extremely inconsistent with the trailer seen in the Netherlands, probably this mountain village is no better than the city, there is its microclimate. When walking, you have to tie a belt, one is to keep warm, the other is to support the function of muscles, walk smoothly, and there is less physical discomfort caused by careless excess. The hotel attendant said that we had encountered the weather that should not be there, and it would be fine in two days.
Such a soul-destroying place is the most suitable for recuperation, and the pain of small fights is better than a panacea.
When I was young, I was sick a lot, always inexplicably uncomfortable here and there, and before I immigrated to the Netherlands, I was a medicine jar. The mother said that it was her fault, she did not expect to be pregnant with twins, life was difficult, there was not enough food and drink, and only three pounds of fetuses almost became a widow. In order to compensate for the lack of belly, my mother did not heed my grandmother's advice, desperately picked up the weak body lying in the bamboo basket that was just about to be abandoned, my crying with my voice awakened the mother's love, tearing her heart and lungs, the kind grandmother did not complain, took the initiative to raise her sister back to beihai home, and I, as a weak person, monopolized the mother's milk and left it in the countryside of Hepu, and my small body bones, so I shared a little of her love as a rural female teacher, living in the primitive world of pure nature. The original mother's love and nature saved a life, and now without a mother, the fanaticism of the natural world is also an expression of nostalgia for mother's love.
Live well and enjoy life! What mother does not expect such anything from her children.
Madeira's flowers and flowers and hermitistic slow life make the unrestrained disposition hide many things hidden in the pure air, as if there is the ability of the primitive to call, nature to suggest, and the mind to restore.
Yes, I believe that the Madeira Islands have this capacity. (To be continued)