Traditional Culture Encyclopedia - Photography major - Zhuge Hanyang's Prose Collection

Zhuge Hanyang's Prose Collection

Zhuge Hanyang's Prose Collection

end of the year

Read in the morning in winter. Li Jing's Mountain Flower.

The fragrant lotus leaves are withered, and the west wind worries about the green waves. With the light * * * gaunt, ugly. The chicken is far away in the drizzle dream, and the small building blows through the cold. How many tears I hate and rely on.

Lotus, it is lotus. Miss the lotus.

That summer, I went to Yuanmingyuan for the first time to see lotus flowers. The lotus blooms wildly and the lake is full. The huge leaves, the faint fragrance of flowers and the melodious pipa sound of the woman in red by the lake make people feel like they are in a lotus wonderland. Love lotus, from now on. I go to Holland every summer. Like lovers, dating. Take a walk by the lake, listen to the sound of lotus flowers blooming and watch the leaves grow. After a year of brewing, it finally opened, overwhelming. The trunk of the lake is very tall and full of flowers. Such a grand event.

A word actually evoked the feelings in my heart. Humor Garden is located in the Summer Palace. The winding gray walls have a unique flavor of Jiangnan gardens. There are bamboos and lotus flowers in the wall. The lotus is not in bloom, and the leaves are full of pools.

The garden is not big, so I sit in the long corridor and watch the lotus leaves dance. Flocks of small goldfish swim around in the water, shuttling between lotus leaves, happy and free. Recalling the lotus-picking songs of Han Yuefu. Jiangnan can pick lotus, lotus leaves, and fish play between them. Fish hits the lotus leaf east, fish hits the lotus leaf west, fish hits the lotus leaf south, and fish hits the lotus leaf north. If the heart is in harmony, the fish in the water will certainly hear the words in my heart.

The lotus in Yuanmingyuan is so spectacular that there are many tourists, which makes the lotus quiet. The opening of lotus is impetuous and not very stable. Fortunately, not far away, under the curved red corridor, the little water lily is quietly open. Small leaves and flowers, exquisite and exquisite. There are fewer people to reward.

In a lake, leaves spread out, flowers stand upright on the water, and beautiful flowers are lifted. Photographers are welcome to take photos, and tourists take photos with Holland. The water lily is restrained, and the leaves and flowers float in the water. It is really as clean as a lotus. Cold and clear. I avoided the crowd, stopped on the bridge, met Xia Feng and looked down at the water lilies.

Lotus is a youthful thing, happy and happy alone. Lotus in Yuanmingyuan, in front of all beings, has to be contaminated and impetuous in the world of mortals. Oh, good family. Water lilies, small jasper. Use lotus flowers and water lilies to describe the characters in A Dream of Red Mansions. Xue Baochai is a lotus flower, and Lin Daiyu, the concubine of Xiaoxiang, can be called water lily.

Monet was obsessed with water lilies in his later years. The water lilies under his oil paintings, in the light and shadow, in the gorgeous colors, this cluster, that cluster, quietly opened, too beautiful to speak. Monet has been pursuing and persisting in his own art all his life. When you are old, your heart sinks and you shake hands with water lilies.

There are lotus flowers in Lianhuachi Park in Beijing, lotus flowers in Beihai and lotus flowers in Taoranting.

When I was a child, there was a pool between the West Second Ring Road and the West Station. The water in the pool entered the bridge and flowed into the moat. In that pool, in early summer, scattered lotus leaves floated on the water. Occasionally the lotus blooms. Just a few.

Zhou Dunyi is the most famous writer of Lotus. Love lotus alone, dirt-free, clear but not demon. Straight outside, not crawling, fragrant. It is slim and elegant, so you can look at it from a distance without looking ridiculous. It's just right to give me the lotus when I was a child. The surrounding environment is not good, only a few flowers are blooming alone in the dirty pool. Know that the lotus originated in this pond. The pond is full, the bridge disappears, and the lotus is still there, blooming in my memory.

See the lotus, or go to the amusement park. The garden is quiet. What you see is not only the lotus, but also its soul. Suitable for a person to see, sit in a long corridor and make eye contact. The purity and clarity of lotus are in my heart. There is Zen in my ear, and the most beautiful and pure music is just that scene in my heart.

It has always been my wish to see lotus flowers in the rain. So far, this has not happened. The end of the year, the end of the year. Next summer, in the rain, we must see and go.

I have seen withered lotus flowers. In Houhai. On the way to Soong Ching Ling's former residence. Pieces of withered lotus. Young and haggard. People who have seen the sea despise rivers. Brown leaves, drooping lotus flowers, plundered, burned, a mess. How beautiful it used to be, how lonely it is now, how terrible it is, and the laws of nature are irresistible. Always unbeaten all year round, no matter how noble things are, they will be tired every day. The vicissitudes of lotus are absolutely beautiful and wither into a character. The wind blows day by day.

Li Shangyin said in a poem: Autumn frost flies late, leaving the residual lotus to listen to the rain. I like this sentence best. Raindrops withered, what kind of mood should we have to hear their crisp sound? Tick tock, tick tock

When the rain hits the lotus leaf, it must be the rain ticking in the green and dissolving in the intermittent veins. Only when you are at peace can you hear its voice. Only when the heart is beautiful can you hear the rhythm of beauty.

In Jing Li's Mountain Flower Son, there are more tragic feelings of lotus dying. He is expressing his feelings through lotus flowers, with endless tears and lonely feelings. I can't bear to see the lotus flowers as thin as wood, and I can't bear to listen to Han Sheng sobbing. Women's bitterness is vividly on the paper.

Li Shangyin's Dry Lotus Listening to the Rain is a clear rhyme used to comfort himself when he is lonely. Happiness and sadness are not the realm of life. Enjoy prosperity, enjoy loneliness. Don't be surprised by honor or disgrace.

Go to Beijing Times Art Museum to see the exhibition. There is a dead lotus in the vase, next to the sculpture. The writer has ornaments at home, specially putting a few withered lotus branches. Lonely? No, it's heart sounds. Don't say anything, just say everything once.

Lotus has its own beauty, whether it is prosperous or withered. People who watch the lotus see its lightness and beauty. People who like lotus flowers like their clean and fragrant characteristics.

Me, Ai He.

When you are old and far away from the city, choose a quiet country yard to live in, dig a small pond, or buy a big blue and white porcelain jar to raise lotus flowers. Watch the lotus leaves unfold slowly, and watch Xiao He show sharp corners. Look at the cost and listen to the rain. It is better to have Sanskrit in the yard.

Painting lotus is also in the world of lotus, meditation. Turn it into a character. Thinking, my heart is full of beautiful pleasure. At the end of the year, I miss the lotus.

Cherry blossom dance celebrates the fleeting time.

I can't remember when the cherry blossoms beside the path in the garden came out again.

I still remember a few days ago, my friend said that the cherry blossoms of Jiaotong University had already bloomed. I was shocked and thought, oh, so soon! In the early morning of the next day, I walked along the path that I walked that day and paid special attention to several cherry blossoms beside the path. Still just bare branches, mottled and sad. I can't help but stop. I think maybe she hasn't got the news that winter is over and the east wind is coming.

Not far away, the begonia has been dragged on the branches in the wind, scarlet as blood, elegant and melancholy. How many times, pacing on this path full of begonia, late at night, alone. Staring at the Chinese flowering crabapple covered with moon gauze is like a fairy descending from the earth. In an instant, people forget all the dust and feel feathered.

Haitang explained, and I was full of worries. Has Haitang been solved? Secretly asked Haitang, Haitang said nothing.

The wind turned to the cloister, and the cuckoo sang secretly.

Plug in the earphone gently, turn the volume to the maximum, single cycle, again, again, listening to Yukiko Isomura's "Windy Street". The erhu is suffocating, and the sound of the piano is far away, as if my thoughts turned into a breeze and floated leisurely on the Qingshi Street in Jiangnan town. The old wall covered with moss and the drizzle in April are mottled and light as water. Vaguely, I saw a tree dancing with begonia. The fusion of scenery and emotion, the handover of reality and dreams. Pieces of blood-like petals drifted with the wind, leaving little red tears and crimson marks for bluestone to drink.

Begonia has not withered, but cherry blossoms are in full bloom, and clusters are on the branches, white as white as white. About spring really came, and the old wounds were buried by new surprises before they could feel sad. The farther the heart is, the farther the horizon is. I have been drifting with the tide for many years.

Although there are many cherry blossoms, the flowers are too bright, far less elegant than Haitang, which is really not beautiful. The beauty of cherry blossoms is in its Xie, flowers and rains are in succession, dancing with the wind into a tomb, and the gorgeous sadness is intoxicating. You once looked at me in surprise and said: Your aesthetics are morbid! I secretly laugh, bitter. I never deny that my aesthetics is morbid.

"This is not good, you'd better change it?"

I said nothing and looked at the smoky place in the distance. Friends may be right, but the heart has been soaked in sadness for too long. How can we change it? I don't know.

Suddenly, I remembered those two Mulan girls in No.1 Middle School.

At this time, Mulan's pure white petals have also fallen. There are also some school girls, with textbooks in their hands, walking quietly, stopping, then picking up the petals on the ground and putting them in their diaries. However, I can no longer stand alone in the morning and watch Mulan fall gracefully. It has been more than two years since I left No.1 Middle School. I have never deliberately recalled those times, just waiting for them to be buried quietly. Just when it was quiet, it suddenly rushed into my heart, drowned itself, and then stood quietly in front of the window of the library on the sixth floor, leaning against the bookshelf in a daze. It's been so long, I didn't expect to break into memories. First of all, the two magnolia trees in the sky fell quietly and were immersed in sadness.

Three years of sadness, three years of biting pain. When all the emotional support collapsed instantly, all the beliefs were gone, and I knew I had nothing, like a lonely child, alone in the cold world. For an unknown goal, try your best to pursue it, to pursue a nothingness.

I feel sorry for myself.

I can't forget the tree on the roof. Growing on the roof of a small room downstairs in the dormitory. The roof was completely sealed with lime, and there was no crack in the soil, while the thin little tree stood there alone. Strong or weak, I can't tell. On that unforgettable afternoon, I sat alone in bed, leaning against the window, staring blankly into the distance. Lazy sunshine shines quietly on the mottled roofs of the famous pass and busy pedestrians in the street. The warm summer breeze blew in from the open window, and the songs in the distant square came in and out. Looking down, I saw the trees on the roof. In an instant, the torrent of sadness covered and destroyed all the defense barriers. A person, expressionless looking at the bustling world in the afternoon, seems to be an abandoned child lost in time and space.

I once believed that some people existed, just like trees on the roof. Its existence is just a trick of creation, which gives you life, but it doesn't give you a glimmer of hope for growth. Knowing that there is no hope, I still persist, but I do my best in endless pain, just for the dignity of life, resisting the ignorance of creation with humble existence, and letting fate know that I have never given in. This is the fate of the trees on the roof. My destiny.

Now that I am alone in the world, time has also eased the pain in my heart, but I still miss those times occasionally. I laughed at my illusion. Qi, a quiet Jiangnan girl, is studying alone in Hebei. I like her faint and beautiful words very much. The first time I met her on the blog, I asked, are you from Hebei?

"Not yet, I don't know in the future."

I smiled. "Welcome to become a native of Hebei in advance." .

"That depends on where my life will fall. Everything will follow. "

I am surprised that there is so much fatalistic helplessness in this statement, and I feel very hurt. I asked myself, where am I from? Only then did I know that I had no roots. I once set foot on wandering for my dream and drank loneliness. Up to now, the meaning of life I am pursuing has never been answered. The pursuit is still slim, and the lost dependence is passing away. Between this uncertainty and passing away, only my heart is shrinking at a loss. Standing on the overpass, watching the road extend to the end of the line of sight, stay quietly for a while and tidy up your mood. Tomorrow will be the end of the world.

The snow is burning.

Snowflakes, flying on the wings of the wind, come from far away. Under the sun, snow waves condense on the earth, covering flowers, grass, woodpiles and villages, and countless dreams are born in people's minds.

When you stare at the endless snow waves, all worldly humble opinions, the disturbance of dust, loneliness and atrophy will be washed away, making you forget the pain, sadness, inferiority and weakness. Staring at the snowy area and bathing in the sunshine in the north, your mind will be purified, your feelings will be sublimated and your mind will be more open.

When you stand by the sea, listen to the surging waves and look at the endless sea, your emotions will embrace the sea. You think the sea is so majestic, vast, solemn and great, and you always sigh, why is there no sea in our north and our Syracuse? Friends, don't sigh, the sea in northern China is better than any other sea, several times, hundreds of times stronger, isn't it! Continuous snow waves rippled and roared on the land in the north. Isn't this the heroism of Schechter? ! When you stand on the snowy sea of golden light and silver, your heart will be close to Xue Hai, and you will feel that Xue Hai is so rough, unrestrained and heroic.

My friends, please come to the north, please come to my snow country, the north will give you a strong temperament, Xue Hai will bring you ecstasy, take a sip of Syracuse's attractive dry, grab a handful of warm snowflakes, warm your heart, smile in your brow and find beauty in it. Maybe you'll even slip out a few elegant poems. As we all know, the wine in the north is very spicy, the snow is beautiful and people are very enthusiastic. When you are old and dry, you will be spicy. When you cough and drink pure white intellectual snow, you will dance with joy.

Simple, simple, simple and stubborn northerners treat distant friends just like their brothers and sisters. Don't you feel kind to such a simple, generous and simple thatched cottage, warm kang and simple words? Please come to the north, come to my hometown, and the falling snowflakes will float into your dreamy fairy tales, leaving beautiful memories. The dog sat on the plow and roamed the snow-capped mountains. It's an honor. Your first sigh is that it's beautiful, white, with countless comforts, and the winding snowy road leads to the depths of the snow-capped mountains. Oh, Xue Hai is not only unrestrained, but also romantic and handsome, natural and unrestrained, like an elegant and beautiful beauty. It's like a magical fairy tale, full of fun.

Standing on the creaking snowy road, listening to the chirping of pheasants and looking at the yellow sun in the distant sky, how much passion jumped out? The first thing that catches your eye is the plum blossom, which blooms side by side with the snow. I wish you the innocence of snow and the persistence of plum. Friend, let me draw them all. Trees hang like pearls, but also like iron trees and silver flowers. Snow, snow. How can I finish it with my pen? How much love do I have to reveal, how much emotion do I have to listen to and how many stories do I have to tell? In the face of all this, my pen describes too little and feels inferior.

My friend, please come to the north in person, come to my Syracuse, and come to my hometown. You will see' the north wind shakes silver and pearls hang trees', and enjoy the magnificent northern Yuan Ye and the natural snow scene.

I like the frozen thousands of miles in my hometown, the white, the love, the kiss, the cut, and the cold north wind blowing like a lion roaring to the fire.

Shaheen

one

On that day, the sky blue seemed to seep, and the scorching sun scorched my whole body. I spent 888 1 day here. Maybe I don't have a fixed hairstyle with hair gel, cool sunglasses, sunscreen on my face or even clothes to cover my body, but the strong wind makes my body round, the poisonous days give me golden luster, and the handsome eyes tell me the young faith. In the vast desert, I am a devout pilgrim, praying for an explosion in my life day after day.

That day, you finally showed up. At the junction of gold and blue, you ride a camel and wear a sand hat, like the beauty of Guloulan. Far away, the desert is clear and fragrant. I am like a goblet full of grapes and wine. The moment you passed by, there was a smile on your mouth, and I rang the crisp voice alone.

In order to stop by your side, I was severely crushed by a camel, and I staggered into your sheepfold in the wind of its hooves. Happiness is like your taste, with a faint jasmine fragrance hidden in the dust. You saw me and gently lifted me with your fingertips. You were surprised at my roundness and brilliance, saying that this is the charm of the desert. A gust of wind blew and I floated gently.

You will die. The wind says that in the purgatory where no one crosses over, in the endless darkness, your soul will never be reborn.

I only follow my inner guidance.

If God doesn't let us achieve a marriage, why let us meet so thrilling!

two

I followed in your footsteps all the way. In the wind that people lift their feet, I am a grain of sand flying for love. Dear, maybe you are testing my loyalty to love, and I can be your shelter.

I became your refuge. My body was rubbed into a pile of hard cement, and I tried my best to stick my head out. I want to look at you. As long as I have your shadow in my eyes, my rotting body in cement will not linger painfully. You smiled and covered my eyes with gray lime. You like white. Pure as white girl, my heart burns an eternal flame for you.

I tried to find your shadow in the gray line of sight. This lime is even more poisonous than the sun. The more I open my eyes, the more it will scratch my eyes with its sharp claws. I warned him to be careful. I would stick my fist out of the cement. Of course, I won't do that. I want to be your shelter.

In the gray line of sight, I saw you lying in a rocking chair, reading with long hair fluttering, and drawing an elegant picture in the sun. You always give half of your breakfast to stray cats and dogs passing by. In the season when the spring breeze helps the willows, you always like to bury those withered lives under the trees when the autumn leaves land. You like to play a few soothing songs in the morning and rub your sleepy eyes. You like to curl up and sleep in a warm afternoon.

Later, I saw your sadness. Your sadness quietly flooded the house like a river. You didn't tell me what happened, just leaned over to me and burst into tears. I want to hug your trembling shoulders and sing a desert song for you, with a hoarse voice.

You left after all. After so many years, my body has rotted away. I want to follow you. Maybe you want me to have a good rest. For me, there is no wind under your feet.

Finally, one day, the house collapsed, and the steel shovel of the bulldozer scraped along my scalp and hit the cement on the rubble.

I'm free!

three

I ask the wind for your trace, I ask the earth for your trace, I ask butterflies, birds and insect ants for your trace.

I'm waiting for a heavy rain, which will take me to your country. I jumped into the river with the rest of my body without hesitation. I stayed on the river bank, my teeth clenched in the wet soil, and the cold river flowed through my body. I hope they can restore me to a round appearance and shine like gold. Day after day, year after year, I looked at the crowded house, hoping that one day I could walk out of a door that I missed day and night. God has not forgotten this unfinished marriage. You have come, with a sunny smile and long curly hair, but your brow is more mature and intelligent, and there are a few thin wrinkles in your eyes. Your fingers brushed the river, and the whole river became excited. Your eyes looked at me, and you said it would be nice if such a round sand were pearls. I remembered your words. When your shadow disappeared from my sight, I began to look for ways to become pearls.

"Go find a clam. Her body is dark and cold. You will become a pearl there."

Maybe you don't believe it. I really found the clam. I entered her body. She turned around and threw me out. I begged and hid in the darkest part of her body. Soon a white substance surrounded me and tightly wrapped my remaining body. Cold, fear, I know I succeeded.

Many years later, someone caught this clam and he pried her body open. I felt her death, and the breath wrapped around my neck like a rope.

"God, look, what a big pearl!" They said.

I was put in a gorgeous gift box in the city shopping center. This is not the result I want. My value is to let her see me and make her laugh happily because of me. I cried for a day and a night, and the tears were hidden in the pearl's body and no one found them.

"Just this one!" A young man said.

His words changed my life. I was taken to a place full of drugs, but I actually smelled the fragrance of jasmine. This smell has been haunting me. I'm getting closer and closer to this fragrance. My eyes are full of tears, and my heartbeat seems to be the same as many years ago. Her fingers stroked my thick body. I want to take it off and kiss these hands warmly, so that every stripe of it will be engraved in my heart, so that I will not be swallowed up by loneliness day and night.

"This pearl may be the sand I met in the desert." She said, her voice old and weak.

four

My world is dark again, but this time I will never feel lonely again. I lay in her hands and on her chest. Her heart stopped beating, and Jasmine was always in my heart. In the cold coffin, I no longer feel lonely.

I only follow my inner guidance.

If God doesn't let us achieve a marriage, why let us meet so thrilling!

If, I go.

Trapped in the joys and sorrows of life for so many years, I can always see the traces of visitors clearly. The river of years washed away the details of the story, and finally made me forget its starting point and dispersed. Only the broken fragrance is left, drifting through the gaps of the years, and gradually rippling memories.

Along the way, I don't know how many fallen flowers shattered by the world of mortals fell silently in front of my eyes and became the shoulders of the moment. The seemingly beautiful sky, full of flowers and dancing, can make people sigh. I want to say something, but I don't know how to express it. I want to leave something behind, but I can always feel a suffocating sadness in my heart and finally turn into a hoarse wilderness. I don't know what to do.

I don't know how many people will be killed by the sword of years at this moment of falling flowers and returning to dust. All I can do is wait for that day quietly. I have no choice but to face the moment when life is dying with a strong smile.

In fact, life is an extremely wonderful thing. Everyone's life is different, long or short, which is unpredictable. Sometimes very tenacious, stand proudly in the world after all kinds of hardships, and sometimes very fragile. Inadvertently, it ended the poem of life and then quietly retired.

In the ruthless years, I can't remember how many people's life chapters I have read. I don't know how many times I have to face the story of yin and yang in my life, and I don't know who will leave me next moment and where I will be.

I know that no one can grasp how long his life can stay on the earth. It may be a long time, or the next second, he will wave his hand and take nothing away. Perhaps, all this, God has already arranged it in the dark!

Perhaps, in this helpless life, we always leave something behind, just like the traces of those lost years, just like the stories written down. I just don't know if these shadowy and invisible traces will tear at the end of the gap in the years when everything is exhausted and the loess sleeps. I don't know, after I left for many years, will anyone remember the figure I have been to and the smile when I left? Whether, someone will leave that eternal treasure in my heart for my story.

If I fall quietly like a fallen flower, how many tourists will come to watch it, and who will pick it up and touch it in the palm of my hand? I don't know, what kind of scene will it be, a farewell party for thousands of people, or the loneliness and cold withering when the beautiful ending shakes in front of people?

I don't know, I don't know how many people will remember me after I leave. I don't know who will feel sorry and sad when I leave.

If, I go. In which cloud will my ownerless soul stay? Or drifting in a certain time and space, sleeping quietly.

If, I go. Will my figure be buried under thousands of feet with the fallen leaves, or will I smile in people's memory from time to time and hide in my heart from time to time?

If, I go. In the memory of future generations, will my story change from colorful to black and white, and from clear to vague?

People put tea cool, and the story will slowly turn yellow. I know that when I really leave, all the joys and sorrows related to me will fall into a unique farewell, and everything in the world of mortals will no longer have anything to do with me.

Perhaps, this is the only end of life! Perhaps, after all kinds of experiences, everything in the world will eventually turn into a west wind and float away, and then no one will remember the figure you have been to and the direction you have been to!

Perhaps, after I left, those stories with me were all lying in the corner where no one had walked, with little charm to attract people to read and little erosion of wind and rain. Somewhere in the dark room of the pavilion, it quietly follows the long river of years and goes to the distant frontier years until eternity.