Yakun night reading 丨 A tree on the cliff (with sound)

...... (Excerpt)

Trees also have attempts to flow. Pulling a gust of wind, it shook the hollow, lonely snow to the ground. After looking at the trees for a long time, each tree became a good charcoal fire in the eyes of my father. Father wore a pair of straw shoes, his feet were sunk deep in the snow, a silver machete swung on the cliff, one, two, three... Wood chips splashed and trees fell in response. The tree was decisively stuffed into the middle earth kiln by his father, licked and cultivated through the fire, and finally a black charcoal, shining on the crispness and warmth of the fire.

Sometimes, the tree is carried straight home by the father, making crazy wooden barrels, splendid wooden cabinets, colorful ploughs, intoxicated palanquins, happy flat burdens... The most pleasing thing is to cut the square wood, or the beams, or the columns, and look at the blue sky on the stilt tower. At this time, the tree, with its head held high, was like a gliding eagle, like a flowing cloud, calmly, spiritually, robustly, and upright with happiness. Its ideas seem to be very complicated, in the final analysis, it is still simple, and the direction it guides is clear, transparent, and clear. In the flower windows of the carved beams and paintings, I can see the tired, weak, and even withered spirit of winter.

Only, my father did not expect the tree on the cliff to become a good charcoal fire. The winter solstice had passed, it was snowing in the mountains, and a chamois had passed under a tree. And back. Its hooves are magnetic and can walk freely on overhangs. The snow wet its ankles, and if it weren't for winter, its hooves and belly would be forest grass seeds, petals, pollen, and broken leaves. It was a little lazy today, probably coming too far, disturbed by solid ice, decadent.

Tonight, the green shade of this tree is the lodging of the chamois. It nibbles at the fresh grass around it, then curls up under the trees like a delicate picture. The pen and ink of the picture scroll is very delicate, the leisurely in the middle is the verdant of the ice and snow; the stunning in the middle is the confusion in the mist; the richness in the middle is the flow of the moonlight like milk; the clarity in the middle is the abruptness of the rock teeth.

I thought every pore of the tree would be happy and tight. I thought the chamois would be terrified in the wind, but no, only struggling to shake off the weight-bearing white ice. Riveting enough warmth, slowly rising, let the green tendons of the tree protrude, let the roots tighten the cliff.

Trees in the moonlight, especially the ancient qi vigorous. The blue hairs that grow undefended lie dormant in the ice and snow, like people hiding in a green tile house. People are in the light, in the night, creeping and surging, it seems that the brilliance of the moonlight makes people rich and deep, and it seems that the seeds that the wind cannot dig out will illuminate it. Several birds also slept in the trees. They came earlier than the chamois and built their nests. Frightened by a sudden burst of moonlight, he screamed and rolled out of the nest and skimmed the sky over the valley.

The branches of the tree are climbing one by one. Although it grows in the warm spring, it matures and is tough in the cold winter. In winter, there are no naughty grasshoppers and loud grasshoppers, and loneliness is really unbearable. But the tree persisted. The tree that can withstand loneliness, without the shadow of the gloom and depression, pokes there, densely turns, and expands people's aspirations without hesitation.

This is the way the tree returns. It is also the way back for people.