Basho wants to come and go. On the pink and white wall is a square window, and the hollowed out old-fashioned natural wood window divides this square into many small lattices, and the small lattice is embedded with swastikas, circles, and flower patterns, which are pasted with white paper, bringing people's thoughts into the long history and telling the vicissitudes of history. Above the window wall is a gray tile roof, and the microwaves paved with roof tiles seem to be slightly rippling. Under the corner window are one or two plantains. The turquoise foliage, the curved petiole, the brown green trunk, large and small, two or three banana leaves, with the tall green trees and vines next to it, become a good painting. The cottage has a charm.
A light rain washed the roof, and the eaves were covered with crystalline water droplets, ticking. Green is thickened into an inky color. Inside the house is a sleepless person. His mind was also shrouded in thick clouds and twilight. The past of the hometown appeared on the heart field, and the dripping rain hit the ground, playing the plantain, like a song from ancient times, and like a murmur of a deceased friend and relative, conveying the situation at this moment.
At this moment, Basho has a poetic meaning, he has become the heart of the wanderer, lingering pity, so that the admiration is sad and sad, and the soul is not guarded.
In fact, the most pleasant is the graceful and luxurious peony. Peonies were not the first to flower. When the warm sun warms up with spring wind and spring rain, the herbs are in full bloom, and the peonies bloom calmly. Peonies blossom and must be fragrant with the foliage. He was not lonely, nor proud, the branches grew, the leaves stretched, he bloomed, without the slightest sense of superiority, just in a bush of green leaves blooming the most wonderful color fragrance of life. There is the posture of a tree, but it is not as tall as a tree, there is a grass overgrowth, but there is no grass low, there are colorful colors, but it is not ostentatious, there is the fragrance of a hundred flowers, but it is not fishy. Even the petals, large but not inviting, bright but not thick, moist but not dry, round but not stiff, stretched but not extended, more but not chaotic. The flowers bloom like a spring, the fragrance ripples, the harvest is as calm as the heart, the big is no older than the sunflower, the small is not more brilliant than the dandelion, more dissatisfied with the tree, less fragmented, and the branches and leaves complement each other. He is also not monotonous, the flower color and pattern are very different, and the branches and leaves are different. One tree and one scene, a few trees full of gardens, and more will be strong mountains and rivers.
The moon season is also beautiful enough, but it is really pitiful. The heart is sensitive, delicate and harmonious. In the monthly season of a single tree, in the dark green grass and the gushing green shrubs, the dry branches are distinct, the vitality is vigorous, the pinnate teeth and leaves are alternate, the old green is tender and red, the branches and leaves are complementary, the branches and green leaves bloom large flowers, there are also many flower bones with buds to be released, the colors are harmonious, the shape is good, the qi is fragrant but not fragrant, the color is also burning and overstretched, feminine and annoying. There are also colorful flower fields, flowers cover branches and leaves, thousands of flowers, clusters, splendid charm, leaves do not show green, branches do not focus, far from fragrant, almost fishy, bees do not love their fragrance, butterflies do not play their prosperity. Although the flowering period has chased after the peony and insisted on winning over the chrysanthemum, the charm of the lost ambition and the dismal floral fragrance are really insufficient.
The moon season is one of the best among the discolored flowers and plants, and the contrast with it can also produce beautiful scenery, but compared with peonies, it is indeed a failure. Plantains are almost weeds, but they are often full of poetry, and the moon season is really unbearable in front of plantains.