Original: Where the clouds are born
Lonely standard proud of the world with who is hidden, the same flower blooms late? - Caption
Chrysanthemums, also known as yellow flowers, folk called yellow flowers may borrow the elegance and holiness of chrysanthemums. For this reason, the love of chrysanthemum is not unheard of after tao, the hidden flower of the flower is leisurely and the persistence of the flower, and the poetry and songs about the chrysanthemum have been endowed with so many ancient and modern times, and I will not paste them here. As one of the four gentlemen in the flower, Ju sang in the mountains and fields, sang in the emperor's general Xiangjia, sang on the boudoir song floor, and sang in the deep alleys of the city. Whether it is bold or gentle, all sentient beings, tied by the image of Ju, are nothing more than the fascination and obsession with a character.
Autumn chrysanthemum proud frost, buried the peach blossom of Daiyu after all did not wait for the chrysanthemum to wither, the chrysanthemum endured for three seasons and finally won the bloom, although it is a little late, but far better than Daiyu to death is also depressed youth Fanghua. Life is like this, even if the wind and frost are strictly forced by the wind and frost sword for three hundred and sixty days a year, only if you have a chrysanthemum that is strong enough in your heart, you will wait for a beautiful miracle.
Rivers, mountains, rivers, fields and gardens, north and south of the river, it is well known that chrysanthemums bloom in autumn, in the northern country is Liqiu Chongyang, in Jiangnan is cold dew frost, in Lingnan's southern Guangdong land is light snow and heavy snow. The chrysanthemums in Lingnan have accumulated the power of three seasons from winter to spring, filling a gap in a season, much longer than the flowering period of plum flowers.
My relationship with Kiku, maybe I was born in the season of Chrysanthemum, maybe I stole a yellow chrysanthemum seedling from the beginning of the village to the end of the village when I was in elementary school, maybe it was the pure beauty story about Chrysanthemum in Liaozhai Zhiyi that I never forgot, or maybe I enjoyed the chrysanthemum exhibition on the shore of the park lake with her when I was in college, or maybe I met with the chrysanthemums in ancient poetry countless times in my dreams. For this reason, in my daily life, Ju really did not miss out.
There are six or seven pots of chrysanthemums on the balcony of my dormitory, transplanted from my hometown fifteen years ago, the pots are not expensive, they are simple abandoned antimony barrels and washbasins, the flower seeds are not expensive, that is, the yellow chrysanthemums and white wild chrysanthemums with buds, and after a long time, there are no different yellow and white hybrid wild chrysanthemums, thin yellow-brown stems, thin dark green tooth leaves, and with the autumn wind, some leaves will wither. Planting chrysanthemums, you can plant them together with their roots and leaves, or you can plant only its roots and small shoots, and every year or two, I will transplant or renovate the chrysanthemums like planting fields (planting rice) by playing with mud and putting in some grass ash and homemade nitrogen fertilizer. Watered once every three or five days, sometimes once in half a month, the dying Chrysanthemum came back to life, although it was not intended to torture Juju in this way, my heart was also full of pain and guilt, and I was a person who claimed to love Juju and pity Juju. Sometimes I think about it, how can I not look like a tortured and abused Ju on the balcony, so Gu Ju is self-pitying, half dead, and staggering years.
After the light snow, the north wind was cold overnight, so abused balcony pot chrysanthemums, so ordinary and thin chrysanthemums, actually grew a lot of small buds silently, and the next morning, the winter sun shone obliquely, and the chrysanthemums on the balcony opened up in clusters, covering the fence. The pale yellow petals are filled with sunshine, with joy, with pride. Radiant, fragrant and pleasing to the eye. My chrysanthemums became the only unique scenery in the unit compound in winter. You are downstairs looking at chrysanthemums, I am upstairs watching you, chrysanthemums decorating your landscape, your shadow decorating my dreams, and I can't help but plagiarize Bian Zhilin's poems. Life is like a flower, women are like flowers, and there are many people who love flowers and love beauty, so many little sisters and big sisters have asked me to send some chrysanthemum seedlings to them, and I also happily agreed to give them. A year and a half later, when I met occasionally on the road, I asked, "Are the chrysanthemums alive?" They were dazed. Do you think that planting chrysanthemums is a simple and easy thing, obviously ordinary people are not loving, patient and careful. Ju's life is also like the pilgrimage of the ascetic monk, all the way to hardships, vicissitudes and disasters, and finally see the buddha's light. Who wouldn't? The harvest obtained through hard work is the most touching joy, the most sensational comfort, and the most painful catharsis.
In winter, Ju Jing lay on the balcony in front of my window, and through the protective fence you could see the blue sky, the distant mountains like Dai, and the kapok eucalyptus trees and acacia willows in the open field, and across the protective fence you could hear the babbling of the river, the morning bell and the twilight drum on the side of the mountain, and the melodious sound of laughter books and piano flutes in the courtyard. Obviously outside the balcony is harmonious, with the harmony and tranquility of the township. However, the house is a little cold, mottled and empty walls, simple and old furnishings and clothes, and the owner of the burrow is meticulously tapping on the old computer keyboard on the old old memories, it is indeed a little depressing and unable to get rid of, after all, not many people in the world can achieve the harmony of heaven and man, I forget the smile and pride of the rivers and lakes, so I can only look at the flowers and wine in Vanity Fair, break the hat in the narrow corner of the sound and color dog and horse to cover the face or nonsense, trek into the tune of the dark ya in the mountains and rivers, or decadence or confusion. At this time, the chrysanthemum has bloomed, the stem and the branch are thin, but it is also dense, the branches and leaves are staggered horizontally, stretching upward to forty or fifty centimeters high, after all, it is too hard, the flowers have sunk the branches, the branches have sunk the stems, only to support the horizontal extension, so it presents a gorgeous picture of a thousand chrysanthemums out of the wall, but some old leaves are hidden at the bottom of the inside, and a closer look will find some dry yellow black old leaves.
Chrysanthemums bloom in disorder, day and night, sunny or rainy, whether you rejoice or grieve. With a wisp of sunshine, a hint of moonlight, and a drop of rain dew, it blooms with its unique pride in the cold and clear light. Dark green leaves, about half the size of a palm, with a tooth-like curve, carefully protected or set off the flowers. When the flowers first bloom, like a cute little pompom, slowly open the petals, light yellow, to the tip of the petals gradually white, the petals are light, the dust is not stained, the flowers are about half the size of a fist, and the orange-yellow flower buds account for a quarter of the whole. This is my chrysanthemum, half yellow and half white, not red or purple, not a five-clawed golden dragon, not a hibiscus peony, it is ordinary but clean, it is gentle but generous. In the chrysanthemum species, it is not ranked, but it is my favorite, because it belongs to me. My chrysanthemums bloomed like this, in the cold winter months, in my bumpy and unsuitable years.
When my chrysanthemum is blooming, I approach to smell its fragrance, not thick or light, refreshing, similar to the iceberg snow lotus fragrance, smell, suck into the dantian, the heart is relaxed, drunk in the fairyland quiet world feels very good, so that in the winter there are bees braving the cold to come to the flower buds, I am no longer surprised. A chrysanthemum blooms to wilt for about fifteen days, when the petals turn purple and finally brown, generally about ten days after opening, I will make a round of picking, the collected chrysanthemums are dried in a bamboo basket, used for tea, used for winemaking. It can also be sold to pharmacies to dissipate wind and heat, and suppress shock and sedation. When the chrysanthemums bloom, the layers of the balcony are full of light, fragrance, and scenery, which has become a comfort to my soul over the years.
Chrysanthemum, plain, quiet and beautiful, in the depths of the season, in the depths of the classics, like a gentle and simple ancient style woman, showing the style, scattering fragrance, has always haunted my dreams.
Standing on the balcony, waiting for this chrysanthemum so close, the flowers bloom silently, the flowers fall wordlessly, the chrysanthemum petals stretch in the wind and smile, I have an epiphany that the years are quiet, at this time the dark incense sleeves, half-hidden memories, overlapping hearts, pieced together a little colorful in the winter, one person and one flower and one tea and one piano, the simple clues gradually sealed a thousand sorrows and thousands of styles, shaking and shaking half a life, the taste of the world is pure joy.
Chrysanthemums, you are like a graceful fairy, you are like a clean feather, you are like a rainbow chasing the moon, and you are like a thin horse in the west wind of the ancient road, picked up by the poet. Chrysanthemums, you lock the cold of winter, you cover the wind and smoke of the years, you precipitate the hustle and bustle of the world, and then you and your master raise their eyebrows to cherish qinser and chimes. Walk through thousands of mountains and rivers, and then gently put down all things, let go of disputes, let go of grievances, and perch in the left atrium of the master like water, your petals and your face are like the bright moon in the night sky.
Your image is not known by how many boudoir women have embroidered into the brocade to love each other, and I don't know how many fallen talents have infiltrated into the rice paper one by one to express their nostalgia. A pot of chrysanthemum wine carries how many sorrows and joys and feelings of home and country, dusty, drunk in white, drunk in QinGuan Han Palace. Dream outside the dream, pillow side, lingering your breath your fragrance.
In the past and the future, this obsession with Juzhi has never stopped and has never been cut off. No matter the beautiful wind and day, no matter the rain and snow, I will rejuvenate my bones and bones, write my clear faith on the chrysanthemum petals, the floating life can be inhabited, the love can be unswerving, and the struggle will be exchanged for a happy face. In the bustling, you are my only attachment, even if you are haggard, but you have no regrets. The white colt crosses the gap, the meteor crosses, the suffering and grievance are no longer there, and only the plain and quiet beauty in the swaying memory remains.
The flowers are similar every year, the chrysanthemums bloom again and again, just as the sky is bright and bright, seeing the philosophy of the cycle of life, a night of north wind, full of golden armor, for whom to put, and for whom to leave a half-cut dream? Chrysanthemum love, lyrical in a faint fairy tale season, there are fate and robbery and salvage of sorrow and madness, that season, the flowers bloom silently, the snow falls silently.
Breathing in the chrysanthemum fragrance, I knew that there was nostalgia and dreams intertwined inside. Talented and beautiful, when unfavorable, endure the floating name to change the floating name into a shallow singing and low chant, hazy or clear, white hair was born early, when to shoot the wolf with a bow? The late blooming of chrysanthemums can still be a season of turmoil, so if life is fruitful and hard work, then why hasn't it turned around? Through the superficiality and complexity of the world, through their own vanity and abandonment, re-introspection, spread their wings and fly, even if they can't reach the other shore of their dreams, they can be considered close to a lot, and they are not bad endings.
The slightest wisp, looking for, the rhyme of chrysanthemum is around, the soul of chrysanthemum is in the heart. I listen to the heart of Ju, if the waves are sandy, if the clouds open the moon, if the rice that has been dry for a long time sucks the nectar. My story was lost in the dust of history, my soul floated on the chrysanthemum Buddha light, and then I laughed.
The past is like smoke, the plain and quiet chrysanthemums have no lack of fragrant poetry, the unfolding of the pages, such as the line board of the song, the lyricism between the lines of my yellowed words, do not forget the original heart, look up at the starry sky, down-to-earth, there are flowers. Chrysanthemums are like a clear spring in the heart, washing and moisturizing the heart and lungs, cleaning the human world, and sublimating survival and love.
On the chrysanthemum stage, the chrysanthemum fairy wore a plain white pleated skirt and danced, graceful and colorful, stirring my heartbeat. It was her stage and her season, and I couldn't describe her fresh beauty, but I knew it was enough for her to dance for me. My chrysanthemums, my songs.
Written on the first day of the first lunar month in the year of Gengzi