From the inverted river to the Longyang Gorge, more than 100 miles, along the way, the gentle grassland of the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau has quietly faded, the loess of the Loess Plateau has appeared, and the yellow sand dunes have also appeared.
An hour later, when I stood on the high viewing platform on the gorge bank, I saw the surrounding bald mountains and barren mountains, the yellow wild red plains, the rocky cliffs, a vast and desolate image, the Yellow River rushing for thousands of miles, in the arms of the broad earth, in the deep canyon, it looked so slender, like a streamer. Such a delicate body will raise hundreds of millions of children, thousands of living beings, many peoples, and great civilizations!
At this time, here, heaven and earth are severe, life is serious, life is harsh. Oh, the Yellow River, your infancy with a quiet spring flowing in Ngoring Lake and Zhaling Lake, your childhood with innocent eyes blinking in the sea of stars and the sea of stars, your girlhood in the nine bends and eighteen bends of the Norgai grassland, and the wonderful time when you danced leisurely in the Maqu grassland have all come to an end, the vast earth has shown the edge of the wind and snow sword in his deep mercy, and the vast time has shown the ruthlessness of the scorching sun and the cold in her silent and majestic march.
The roads of the world pass through thousands of mountains and ravines, the natural mountains and rivers wind in the narrow world, the hares jump smartly among the rocks, and the rock sheep look down intently on the cliffs. Birds chirp in the lonely sky, like the beautiful bell of a tenacious life. The beautiful feathers shimmer in the quiet sunlight, and they are the small notes of the symphony of life that will always be played in this serious, lonely and magnificent canyon. Cattle and sheep flow among the barren slopes of the bald rocks, like a stream of life that suddenly gushes out. And the plateau undulates in the boundless land, and the high mountains churn yellow waves in the golden sunlight - isn't this another more magnificent and mighty Yellow River?
Oh, the village, so modestly prostrate in the folds of the mountain, the old man's face is as kind as a mountain, and the cry of a baby is especially touching in the silence of the vast expanse of silence—it is the most delicate bud that blooms on the tenacious branch of life, the first bloom of the song of life on the reckless land of life.
In the magnificent transformation of the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau to the Loess Plateau, when the Yellow River turned tragically from a carefree girl to a great mother in many dangers, I couldn't stop crying. The water of the Yellow River that I drank last night has turned into silent tears, dripping with my own grass of life.
I suddenly wanted to sing, to sing wordlessly like grass, to sing gorgeously like birds, to sing like cows and sheep, to sing lonely like clouds, to sing like waves, to sing mournfully like a dry stream—to all life, to the river that nourishes thousands of lives, to the vast earth that embraces the great river.
Is this the primordial impulse of the song of life? Am I coming from thousands of miles to chant softly in this long world of speechless words?
This is a sobbing by the Yellow River, on the side of the mother's yellow-brown skirt, like a grass trembling slightly, moving, sighing, and grateful......
