Daily prose

It has been raining in the small town in the south of the Yangtze River, but it still refuses to clear up. When I was confused by the continuous drizzle and mistakenly thought that spring had just begun and the rainy season had ended before it came, I found that this spring had passed and everything I should do had been done.

The flowers on the roadside have been running wildly since the Spring Festival. You can sing and I will appear. Whose soul did those thin plum blossoms precipitate? Who is the peach blossom that leaves burning brilliance? Has the vividness of apricot flowers caught up with that of begonia? Maybe those flowers, like people, are always easy to ignore the daily life and the most real days around them. In a blink of an eye, the excitement fell into the mud for the second time, and it has become a floating foam of time before asking.

I stepped on the desolation at the end of the season and watched spring in the park. Yes, look at spring. There is a spring cloud hidden in my heart. When my quiet thoughts are in full bloom, it will float and cling to my skirt. What does it matter whether it is spring, summer or autumn and winter? After the path in the shade of the tree was wet by the rain, there was a hint of coolness at the foot. I'm glad to hear the wind blowing across the lake. Gossip is green.

It is always difficult to find a secluded place in the park on weekends. Groups of faces are small doors and windows. At first glance, each has its own expression and story. Listen to the wind, listen to the flowers, and walk to the thickest place in spring. This season, the newly cultivated roses bloom like peony, layered and elegant. Looking around, I was still attracted by the flower man.

It was a photographer who looked forty or fifty years old, and his white-haired old father was in a wheelchair. He said that people are old, and their expressions are stiff. Without expressions, it is easy to be unnatural. I usually spend less time with the elderly. On weekends, I specially took him to the park to relax, bask in the sun, look at flowers and take a group of photos of his life. Speaking of photography, he adjusted the camera hanging around his neck. To be honest, when he was young, he always liked to study various shooting techniques and always wanted to send out the hard-earned photos to get recognition and praise. He used to be the moderator of Tianya photography section and felt that he had proved himself. But the more you experience in life, the more important it is not the skill, but the content of the work itself. Photography is actually telling others one thing. Tell this story clearly and your mission will be completed. Although his wife is also in her forties and fifties, she can't hide her youthful charm. Put your hand on the photographer's shoulder and come around from behind. He smiled and said that his wife was a "happy angel". The wind blew from the lake, and the old man opened his mouth. The toothless smile had a sense of beauty that penetrated the years.

Before I knew it, it was almost noon, so I chose a green lakeside stand to watch the fish. But I heard the warm banhu coming from the trees in the corner of the stands. An old man is pulling an excerpt from the Henan opera Chaoyanggou, and his expression is focused. I sat quietly and casually. After singing, the old man recovered from the banhu and asked me with a smile, "Can you sing a song?" Amiable, but with a local accent. I am ashamed of my bad voice, and I have no accomplishments in music and opera. He encouraged me to learn a few words, saying that he had encouraged men, women and children in a big family to learn drama and musical instruments together. I remember watching several movies with my parents who like to go to the opera when I was a child. Under such a huge stage, I only feel that the lyrics are beautiful, the figure is beautiful, and the melody of babbling is even more amazing.

When Mulan joined the army for her father, the wind blew and the leaves rustled. The crowds you come and go are bustling and blurred backwards. There is only an old man who is angry, an infatuated me, and a long story hidden in the sound of banhu. Now that I think about it, I think I must have missed a clear word at that moment.

On the way back, I had the illusion of wearing Lin Jing clothes, as if every step was covered with dark moss, and there was a visible calm between gestures. Suddenly feeling "secluded" Why is it "winding and secluded"? This seclusion exists in the stream of daily life. That kind of daily life lies in meeting a flower and talking with a cup of tea. Daily life still exists in all the little pleasures that life gives. The smoke from the kitchen is beautiful and tactful, and you can feel comfortable everywhere without planting chrysanthemums.

Life will not give us too many moments, nor will it give us too much time to enjoy the beautiful scenery. If we have the heart, we can turn it into Wang Yang through a trickle every day. One day, when time is getting old, or sitting alone in a secluded place, or accompanied by children and grandchildren, recalling the yellow ripples, the fragrance of lotus will be born in my heart. If there are people who understand, it will be icing on the cake. If the daily life of this life can be like this, why are you still afraid of the sunset near dusk?