The anchor reads the classics and accompanies you to say goodnight, hello everyone! Here is the lightning night reading, I am Yucheng Rong Media anchor Pang Weiwei, tonight to share with you Ding Limei's essay "One Go, Two Three Miles".
One to two or three miles
Text/Ding Limei
It is best to go to the countryside in spring. No matter where the countryside is, the nature of Jiangnan is good, and the north of Jiangsu is also good. Where spring, it is all tender and new.
Green is the most outstanding, that is the background color of spring, light green, emerald green, green green, dark green... And when the spring breeze blows again, the grass will spread out in the sky, and the green arm will swing the green body, swaying to make people's hearts itch. This side just proposed: "Go to Qingqing? The other side immediately echoed, "Okay." ”
In fact, the theory of stepping on the green has a long history. In the Analects, it is recorded: "Those who are in the late spring, the spring clothes are complete, the crowns are five or six, the boys are six or seven, the bath is Yi, the wind is like a dance, and the song returns." "The ancients' love for nature was much more solemn than today's. Go out to see a spring, I am bound to wear new clothes, freshen up and dress up. A large contingent went to the river to pick up a bunch of spring water and purify the body. In the grassy and green fields, dance against the wind, until night falls, only to sing and sing, and return home with pleasure.
This kind of spring appreciation is actually noisy. I thought that it was enough to have three or two acquaintances with each other. It's better if you're alone. You can calmly and quietly be a pure audience in front of the spring stage.
So, put down the chores at hand, go, and go in one direction at random, out of town. One to two or three miles? Right. How appropriate is this distance. Not far, not near, spring is just right. You think of the following continuation sentence: four or five tobacco villages, six or seven pavilions, eight or ninety flowers. Very freehand, sketchy. In fact, the village you see is far heavier than the oil paint described in the poems of the ancients.
Now, you're standing two or three miles from the city. There are far more than four or five tobacco villages. Row after row of farmhouses, clustered in various colors, staggered in height. It was the green of the wheat, the yellow of the cauliflower, the red of the peach blossom, and the white of the pear blossom. Do you really want to go into any house and ask for a sip of water, and the water should also be full of the smell of spring, right?
Six or seven pavilions? There are no pavilions, but there are many bridges. Where there is a bridge, there must be a river, and where there is a river, there must be a willow. Stand on a bridge and blow the wind, and look at the willows. The spring willows are the brides who are shy, they gently move the lotus steps and slowly twist their waists. Tiny green buds, grained with rice glued to the branches, stored up a winter's thoughts, and began to spit out little by little. What a flair!
Eighty or ninety flowers? Oh, which can be counted. The fields of rape flowers, thousands of flowers, spread like a fiery fire. Think of this cauliflower, really like a fierce woman, love and hate position is clear. Under the spring sky, its echoes are endless. I can only hear it saying, there is only this cavity of blood in my chest cavity, just take it and sprinkle it! You suddenly have an urge to jump into this cauliflower field and roll. The woman carrying a basket of sheep grass on the side of the road looks at you and smiles and asks, "What about cauliflowers?" You can't resist the urge to roll in the cauliflower field, and smile and reply, "Well, look at the cauliflower." Turning around at an intersection, I saw a row of green tile houses standing side by side. Against the background of the yellow canola flowers, those slightly rough green tiles are actually delicate and vivid. This side of the eyes looked half a day, reluctantly to close, that side of the house suddenly popped out a peach, the flower bloomed just right, light and faint pink, a touch of smear, like a lightly dyed cloud smoke.
An old farmer came out of the house. He stopped at the edge of the field where the rape flowers were blooming and crouched down. You also walked over and squatted down. The old farmer grabbed a cigarette between his fingers and inhaled it slowly, looking at a piece of wheat seedlings and rape flowers. What he thought was that in the near future, the golden grains of wheat and the yellow seeds of rapeseed. What you think is, this emerald green, this goose yellow, this color is extravagant.
A dog, out of nowhere, wagged its tail around the old farmer's legs, and was overjoyed. Time took a turn on this side of the village and stopped. Your mind also stops,
Stop thinking about the sad things of the day. How the name is, how the profit is, is a burden. In the end, you understand, pure pursuit, not nothing, the key is, can not let go.
About the Author:
Ding Limei, a writer from Dongtai, Jiangsu Province, represents his works "The Wind Will Remember the Fragrance of a Flower", "There is a Beauty, Fragrant to the Evening", "Ding Limei's Writing Class" and so on.
Anchor Profile:
Pang Weiwei, Yucheng Rong Media Anchor.