Venus prose in the soul

This day is Saturday. First, it is the international children's day of mankind.

In this way, the road was taken away by the bustling crowd. The traffic was as slow as a snail, so I simply stopped to watch the famous weekend party in Changchun pigeon market.

It is not only a paradise for trading small animals, but also a living museum of bird specimens. This is more like a bloody animal slaughterhouse.

Trapped, poached. Famous and unknown. From large raptors to world treasures, there is almost everything. "I advise you not to hit those three spring birds. Your son will stay in the nest and wait for his mother to come back." With the rhythm of Bai Juyi's Tang poems, listening to the birds' whining and watching the birds' chirping in the distance, I feel that I have stepped into an invisible open-air cage ...

This is a spontaneously formed market that occupies urban roads. On both sides of the road that stretches for hundreds of meters, the case of bird dealers is like the stands in the Colosseum in ancient Rome. They are watching the game between birds and humans to see who will quit the competition in nature first.

Of course, the birds here are different. Singing thrush, like lark, lark and love birds, has been accustomed to the long-term confinement life, showing off freely in various elegant bird cages, flapping its wings and standing on perches. Singing its melodious love songs loud and clear is pleasing to the eye and thought-provoking. This scene is so sad. Only by reading Ouyang Xiu's Thrushcross Birds can we understand this daydream. "Music follow-up, bonus. I realized that it is better to sing freely in the forest than to listen to the golden cage. "

There are blackheads and wax mouths that are more pleasing than thrush, as well as yellowbird, wenbird and hibiscus bird. Not only will it be kitsch when the voice is loud, but you will like it if you have more stunts. I don't know whether people want to make birds happy or birds want to please people, but birds can compromise their freedom and wear "neck locks" Self-sustaining and extraordinary lofty, proudly boasting on the bird rack, like a radiant star, trying to be exquisite and ready to perform at any time. When the "neck rope" symbolizing the opening of the curtain was untied, with a password, the bird was so anxious that it had collected three or four smooth projectiles in the high air like an arrow. I don't know whether the bird rewarded three or four hemp seeds or the bird rewarded the scattered money of passers-by Anyway, with this bird, here is full of pride and happiness.

In piles of simple cages, flocks of birds just leaving the nest and a cage full of tits are either full of despair, curled up in the deepest shadow of the cage and sadly greeted death. In other words, it is a narrow and hateful reckless temper, pushing and shoving, rushing around, struggling painfully, as if to rush out of this isolated tragic world and expect the freedom of rebirth.

There are some birds who don't know whether they are alive or dead. They have long forgotten that they are prisoners, either posing or fawning. A narcissistic coquetry. I jumped up and sang with joy, just like in the rehearsal of the World Singers' Grand Prix.

My eyes finally fixed on the top of the net cage. A pair of plush balls attracted my amazement. This is a baby eagle. The horny flat beak, the more it reaches the corner, the more it is inlaid with a thick layer of sallow. It can be seen that it is a pair of "chicks" who have been out of their shells for less than a week. It must be an eagle kite, a flower or an eagle. I tried my best to make it cute. Could it be Hai's own brother?

Two lovely eagle chicks, snuggling together, the whole body is like a stuffed ball full of air. Drum and round. It's a pity that when I take a closer look, one of them has held her breath and curled up like a discouraged doll, and her delicate velvet feathers have become as thick as fluffy hemp fibers. Is it a kind of pathetic self-pity? Still sad? Look at the crimson near it. The fluff seems dirty.

This is the beginning of Bai Juyi's poem "Birds": "Who knows that life is small? General flesh and blood are generally skin. "

Looking at this young eagle that is still alive, he looks like an awe-inspiring just man. A pair of round eyes, bulging, with a waxy yellow outer ring wrapped in silver-gray eyelids, immature, but you can see that there is a domineering look in your eyes. Facing the imminent disaster, it secretly sobbed but didn't let you know that it had sighed. Wandering around this little guy, there is no heroic temperament of resentment. I decided to keep it in the bird's nest. It seems to understand my pity, and the butterfly's expression is no longer gloomy, just like a bunch of dandelions twisted into a fluffy velvet flower, giving me a stubborn call.

How could it be so naive to give itself to me? It is eager for me to release it after I raise it. I suddenly felt a high sense of pride. As if the sky were as kind as us ...

You are mine and I am yours. I can't give you the whole world, but I can give you the warmest space.