Did you know that in order to give the rice a good rest at night, there are no street lights in many areas of Chishang. Let the rice rest and sleep, like a person who has slept enough, can have a full body. As a result, some of my favorite paths for night walks are unlit, and if there are no clouds, I can look up and see the stars spreading out in the sky. Stay for about a month, and you will soon become familiar with the position of the rising or sinking of the constellations in different seasons and different times. I still have an inexplicable urge to sometimes close my eyes and listen to the sound of the stars in the sky, rising or falling, all so quietly and without noise. I try to listen to more subtle sounds, like Zhuangzi said "the sounds of heaven". "Nature" is the sound of love or intimacy in nature, "Nature" may also be the voice of your own heart, you can hear "Nature" in a quiet place like Ikegami, and you will find yourself. After living in the pond for a month, he began to wander around. If you walk, you can walk along the stream canyon of Xinwulu Creek to the confluence where this stream joins Beinan Creek. The sound of the water in the two streams is different, there are different sounds when they hit different reefs, and there are also sounds when they turn on the rock wall. I listened carefully, and there was searching, hope, attachment, reluctance, and reluctance, and so many bits and pieces of my heart in my voice. I walked to the Wulu tribe on the hillside by the stream, watched the elementary school students raise the flag on the campus, and the large tomato fields were filled with tomatoes for some reason, leaving them to rot. Remember the epiphany on the hillside, which bloomed hundreds at the same time in the moonlight, and I seemed to hear the joyful and sad sound of the epiphany blooming. When I returned to the pond and walked past the nursery center, I saw a white cloth about 100 meters long, spread on the ground, and someone carefully watered it. I curiously opened the corner of the moist white cloth and peeped, one grain after another, the white shoots like the tip of a needle had just emerged, like many fetuses, and I listened to the sound of their first breathing, squeaking, and talking with joy. Between the long river and the mountains, listening to the thousands of natural sounds seems to slowly regain the memory of the deep and deep sounds in my body. Like the clouds on the pond, they can be very high or low, low enough to be close to the rice seedlings, leaving a grain of crystal dew on each seedling, so that the seedlings that are full of sleep can wake up before the morning sun rises. The cloud can be so nothing, come without a purpose, and go away without a purpose. One day in early spring, I heard the sound of a neem tree about to spit out buds, with a little pink purple in the sound, it had just begun spring, and it was still very cold in the valley, but the bitter tree seemed to be unable to help but wake up quickly. Before I fall asleep and when I wake up, I always lie in bed with my eyes closed and listen to many kinds of sounds. The quietest is the sound of the clouds flowing slowly, and in the early morning or night, the clouds float gracefully and wander without hurrying, leaving their sometimes silvery white, sometimes faint silvery gray sounds in the air. I listened to the sound of the clouds flowing, lighter than water, and the clouds moved, very slowly, if there was nothing, if there was no intermittent. Jiang Xun: Painter, poet, writer. A native of Changle, Fujian. Born in the ancient capital of Xi'an, he grew up in Taiwan. His representative works include "The Beauty of Chinese Character Calligraphy", "Jiang Xun Says Dream of Red Mansions", "Six Lectures on Loneliness", "Meditation on Beauty", "Reluctant, Reluctant" and so on.