Choi Ka Wing: I am a bird from Daya Bay

The waters of Daya Bay are deep and clear, and every seabird is the soul of its wandering return. They follow the wind, they ride the waves, they carry the handwritten letters from each island, and they plunge into the arms of Daya Bay at dusk. Fishing boats lined up in Aotou Harbor, masts were lighthouses for seabirds to return home, Hakka women carrying buckets of water, sorting fish and shrimp on the deck, and black coverings around wide straw hats swinging in the evening wind. Seagulls are a group of mischievous children, around them to grab small fish and shrimp, they raise their arms from time to time, and the seagulls spread their wings to avoid, but immediately flew over again. "The sea breeze sweeps, the waves flutter, I am a bird in Daya Bay." Stepping into Aotou Harbor and seeing these mischievous seagulls shuttling between fishing boats, I immediately remembered this children's song. The sea breeze blew in, and I became a seabird, soaring over the waves of the monsoon wind in early summer. In the sea breeze, there are mountains, there is water, there is sunshine, and there is a feeling of embracing the world. Mountains of stones, standing on the shoulders of the bay, when I gently touched its skin that had experienced thousands of years of wind and rain, I saw a grain of mottled sand. Although it has experienced many centuries of purgatory, it has maintained the fire and light of the Paleozoic Era. Tiny snails, all of its people, cling to the sand and gravel, shelter from the wind, hide from the waves, look up at the stars, and listen to the chirping of seabirds. The deep sea water has escaped oil pollution, escaped destruction, and maintained the blue from the depths of nature. The band fish meanders and swims, the groupers pass sideways, and the river clams open their shell beaks. Every streak, every tentacle, is so clear. Young oysters, lining themselves up in a row, clinging to the rocks, gathered into a group, a family, and grew slowly under the caress of the sea. How lucky they are to have such a clear home! The endless waves are their cheers, and the eternal half-day tide is their skateboard.

I stood on the beach shouting, the shadows of the trees on the shore; I stopped at the island to meditate, and the sea knife bean bowed its head and said nothing. The flowers of the seahorse teeth are as fine as rice, and the branches of the rising horse tang are traversed by rocks. They make green companions for the rocks, and they build a habitat for seabirds. Tiny leaves are the gift of sunshine and rain, the enduring light of life. Good people, please don't step on her, please don't break her branches, they swear never to leave the island, not to let the rocks be lonely, not to let the seabirds cry, not to let the landscape of Daya Bay lose their feelings of life. The deck of the Shanghai gulls chirped loudly, facing the wind, I wanted to fly. Skim over Sanmen Island and see the mountains on the island, fly over Dajia Island, and step on the wet and smooth beach. I want to see the sunrise in Xunliao Bay, see the fish and shrimp in Aotou Bay, listen to the bells of Qingquan Temple, and step on the Golden Coast of Panda. The waves on the sea are long, facing the wind, I want to fly, I want to dance with the waves, walk with fish and shrimp, and appreciate the endless chest of the sea. The sky is blue and white, the sea is endless, I soared in the blue sky, swooped to the surface of the water, only to find out how small I was! In the vast world, we are in harmony with ourselves. Standing on the deck, I was careful, afraid that a grain of dust would fall, ruining its tranquility and tarnishing its clarity. The people of the reserve have breathed its breath and become one with it, and when the sea is violated, they will be distressed; when the fish run aground on the beach, they will cry; when the island loses its people, their eyes will become dull. The stranded turtles, the injured tortoiseshells, were their adopted children, and even a real seabream that had mistakenly broken into the net returned to the embrace of the sea intact. Daya Bay, you are a haven for people to recuperate, a stepping stone for rapid take-off. I am willing to put down the fishing net, put down the sickle, let go of the impetuousness from the heart, wait with you, look with you, wait for the scenery of nature's gifts, and look forward to a better tomorrow.

About the author Cui Jiarong, male, born in 1973 in Shenqiu County, Henan Province, now lives in Huizhou. He is a member of the Chinese Poetry Society, a member of the China Miniature Novel Society, a member of the Chinese Prose Literature Society, a member of the Sichuan Writers Association, and the executive vice president of the Yuanzhou Poetry Association, and has published hundreds of works in journals such as "Chinese Writers and Artists", "Shenzhou", "Stars", "Xinghuo", "Young Writers", "Tangshan Literature", and authors of the novel collection "See the Acacia Blossoms Again", "Meijiawan", and the poetry collection "Flowers Bloom in Four Seasons", "On the Road", "Flowing Years" and so on.