Yu Xiuhua
poet
The beginning of every spring is not very good, and before the winter is clean, it comes in confusion: like a woman, the stillborn child in her belly has not yet been beaten, but she is pregnant with a wild species! Don't you call, I naturally know that spring is beautiful, and if it is beautiful, can't it be a wild species? Spring is a good time to breed wild seeds: wind and rain, what you plant grows, and what you don't plant must grow. This is spring, and the great passion rushes the good and the bad into the east. Maybe I'm too dull, every spring comes, I don't recognize it in time, and by the time I do, it's going to be old.
Today is a good sunny day, my mood is also a small sunny day, it is really not easy, an old cucumber brushed with green paint is also a very difficult thing. In fact, for many years, the Spring Festival has ruled out each other: there is nothing new in my heart, it is all old goods. Relatives do not leave, visitors do not see, it is time to sleep, sleep and drink alcohol. When you hear someone set off firecrackers, you should be exorcising yourself. Of course, evil cannot be driven away, and it is not fun to drive it away.
After a morning of grinding, I opened the door of the balcony, and it was already afternoon. The sun was shining warmly in the yard, and at this moment I felt that there was still some freshness in life, and I was really a good person, always finding the greatest gift of life in the cheapest things. That kind of sunshine, even if it does not shine at all, already presents its beauty. My yard is as scruffy as mine, often gray, but the dust is my friend, and it's a little rude to drive my friend away. I moved a plum tree into the sun, and one winter, it was not exposed to the sun, and the endocrine disorder was lost. Several yellow flowers stick to the branches, without a single leaf, which looks like a fake.
I bought it back last winter, and it didn't move for a long time, I didn't know what medicine was buried in its branch, and I spit it out for fear of "death" with a spit. I was in a bad mood during that time and didn't have the extra strength to worry about it. Of course, I'm basically in a bad mood, because I'm a bad person. Unexpectedly, it actually bloomed some time ago, as if a few yellow flowers falling from the sky fell carelessly onto its branches. The schoolboy is afraid to say: Look how strong it is. Bright flowers bloom in the whistling cold wind, shouldn't we learn from it?
But learning is also a spring thing: the stalks of the grass that are pumped out, the stamens of the flowers that are spit out, and the leaves that bloom are all exploring and learning. They are young and vigorous, looking for treasure in the world, or finding the world into a treasure. I have also taken my place in many springs, and the vines timidly pull themselves out, and whoever wants to gnaw it. As a result, when I was old, I was really gnawed by blind sheep. In fact, I am still studying this spring, but I can't say what I learned, but I certainly didn't learn from this plum. Although it is blooming, in my yard, I feel that it is not alive, and the year before last, it was also a plum tree that died in the summer.
There is also a sorrel grass, which is simply unpleasant in winter: layers of pots of green, as if showing off. But it's also worth showing off: what else is there to do besides a thriving life? When I saw that the poet Li Yuansheng had raised a sorrel grass, it had grown into an old pile, so I also bought such a tree, and now I think it is a counterfeit: like a weed whose name is unknown. When I saw it, I thought of Li Yuansheng and the many people who had walked through my life in a shallow way. Those passers-by, I really can't get enough to keep them. However, each has its own fate, and the mist on the Jialing River cannot float on our Zhupi River.
The rest are some succulents, which are not worth mentioning. They probably know their fate: on the balcony, they may die one day, death is without warning, and their small bodies are full of the universe's greatest secrets. Sometimes I look at those dead plants and get very frustrated. Maybe it's also my bad luck in recent years, so that those little pitifuls also suffer with me. I also often reflect on myself: whether the overly ostentatious personality is still a superficiality: we talk about it on the Internet every day, not because of inner scarcity. The more scarce people are, the more eager they are to express themselves, and that's what I am.
How bleak: after the new countryside was built, I could only look for my spring in this small space, and what a wonderful irony that a peasant was forced out of the petty bourgeoisie alive. Of course, I can't blame anyone else for this, I don't even bother to go downstairs, let alone go to the field. So in the end it was me who ironically made myself. When thinking about this, what kind of creature will be the first to wriggle in the dirt? Earthworm? Ant? Or is it something else? Well, I know very little about the world, and when I die, I am only illiterate who knows a few words. Anyway, spring is coming, and the field must have its movement and planning, which our eyes cannot see, and our hearts cannot see.
Having written so much, it is not my Yu Xiuhua's personal shallow love, and even a toad jumping into the water is greater than this movement. I covered my laziness and inaction with "obeying destiny", and I covered my nonsense with "flowers without hundred days"; I used drunkenness again and again to escape the twists and turns and dirt of my life, and spring after spring, like escaping the screaming life that was frozen to death in the snow. Fortunately, when spring comes, the birds will sing, the leaves will be green, the flowers will be red, and in any case, you will be given a river and mountain to see. I think I have to do at least one thing this spring, good and bad and don't care, the best thing is to go to West Lake, go to Leifeng Pagoda, and release both the White Snake and Fahai.
Whether spring comes or not is to be written, a stream of dirty water entering the sewer is going to flow out. You see that in the spring, it blocks the exit of the sewers, filters out all the dirt, and then releases seemingly clean water to become a new seduction. Of course, it can also be said the other way around: a seemingly clean spring is a place to recreate a place where new things degenerate uncontrollably. I am like a treasure hunter in the garbage heap, and I know very well that the so-called treasure is a piece of broken glass, and whether you can be a person again depends on whether you can see the broken glass as a pearl.
My body is inhabited by an ancient spring, which can be said to be from the last century, so what new things can grow can only be left to fate. And in the spring, I have fewer and fewer things to use, and I have no intention of stealing and robbing them. The leaves that fell in the river last year will not turn green, and there will be no more my lover when I meet me, so I changed my body easily, and I ended up with a jug of wine and found a place to turn myself over, which is an explanation for this spring.
Content Producer: Sun Zhe
Curated by: ELLE Task Force
Edited by Sherry