Xiao's prose

When I got up in the morning, there was no towel, so I had to wash my face with clean water. I looked up and found a thin layer of ice on the window glass. Ice flowers are natural in posture and pure in mind, just like bluegrass on a weathered cliff. Look at its leaves carefully, it's not messy at all, and it can pitch freely. Why do you have to open it on the window glass in such cold weather? The texture of ice flower is like a long, narrow and upright orchid leaf, but its shape is not like willow Bai Mo element, nor like Bai Mo element, but like cold orchid?

I touched it gently with my finger, trying to identify it carefully. I didn't expect the temperature of my fingers to melt it. I found that the more careful I was, the more confused I was. There is still a little round water on my finger, and the cool regret makes me uneasy. I breathed into the window glass, and the ice flower turned into a slow droplet, which slipped down from the glass, as clear as tears in a teenager's eyes. Bags of luggage are on the ground and will be moved to the rented house in a few days. Life is a poem as plain as words, and it is this poem that chisels my axe into a scarred story.

In the spring of senior one, I learned Meng Haoran's poem: "In the morning of spring, I woke up briskly, and birds were singing all around." Through the subtle waterline of the years, I vaguely found that my understanding of things at that time was pure white and naive; Some people say that ignorance is fearless, but didn't we grow up in ignorance? Driving cattle to eat grass in the mountains reminds me of Meng Haoran's poems.

Xiao Chun, is this just a season? If Xiao Chun is just a season in a five-character quatrain, it should be a beautiful flower in March. Outside Qianshan Mountain, birds sing three or two times. Was the poet awakened by the wind and rain of the peach blossom bed? I had to borrow half a foot of Leng Yue from Dalian to twist the old days. In the spring morning, the calf jumped around in the field with its tail up excitedly, the white cat in the corner stretched proudly, and the old hen's wings turned up some soil in the garden. The uncle who transplanted rice in the rice field walked around the ridge barefoot and trouser legs. The sunshine in the spring morning is pale yellow, warm and bright. Some children's temperament is not dazzling and wild, so there is no need to deliberately hide it. It's in your hands, like hope without distractions. I think this is not just a season, but a dusty year flowing down from Lumen Mountain where Meng Haoran lives in seclusion. It is a mentality of being with many people when I was a child. Not strong, not strong, but just a kind of beauty. When we are all in poetry, no matter whether we understand fate or not, because of the past, I think people have known each other and lived in peace.

Eleven, or twelve. I am still a child who doesn't understand the world. Every time I go to the road, I have to pass Zhao's old tile house. I remember that their tiles were built, and there was a wooden fish hanging from the purlin of the tile house. The wind blows just right, through the dense bamboo forest, and then slowly blows over the tile house. The fish seems to be alive, swimming slowly in the wind. Before the arrival of spring, the rain fell gently on the tile surface, tinkling and banging, and several pieces of loose green moss grew on the tile surface. When the rain is heavier, the tiles will become lively, and the rain will cut deep bubbles, bright and bright.

Clean rain slowly flows down from the tiles on the back, with the old bamboo leaves, slender and even, like a popular boat on the water, which looks natural. The rain on the eaves falls beautifully in the empty sauerkraut jar, and the magpies fly down on the tiles to comb their feathers. It stays on the eaves, like a footnote written at the back of the text. I don't have time to see it clearly. My naughty friend picked up a stone and threw it at the magpie. The magpie flew in surprise and the stone reluctantly hit the surface of the tile. There were unfriendly slamming doors and ugly insults from the tile house. I didn't want to be complained by Uncle Zhao at home, so I ran away with my naughty friends.

On the way home, the broken ear roots in the shade of the valley grew just right, and the unhappiness just now did not affect my mood of picking the broken ear roots. Pick a bamboo and get busy. The bud tip of the sprouted spike root is reddish, and the stems and vines buried in the soil are also white. The bud tip appears first, and the color is eye-catching. The rope is tender and slender, very cute. As long as you are patient enough, you can dig a handful, wash it at home, cut it into small pieces and fry it with lean meat. Its quality is exquisite, its taste is long and fragrant, and its aroma is calm and unforgettable. During the dinner, my mother will patiently teach me the truth of being a man, and I am impatient when I know it. Finally, after repeated troubles and flogging, I gradually realized that if I don't know, I will become superficial and stop at ignorance.

As the saying goes, "Xiao, Ming is also". For myself at the age of eighteen, I don't know where I am going, and I don't know where I can put a suitable dream. It's still time for rice seedlings to grow, but I'm not the seven-year-old child who salvaged small fish in Longdongwan rice fields. I want to know more about this. At first, it was nature. I like the beauty of nature and simplicity. Fate and beauty belong to beauty. I don't know the future, and I'm not afraid. I believe in the result of hard work. Looking around, the Water jingle flowing from the distant ridge is ringing, surrounded by beautiful water and mountains. If only it looked like a tree! I only blame myself for growing some plants and trees, so I love mountains and rivers, and I love duckweed floating in white water, not with the fragrance of Chinese rose, but with amazing youth. Xiao, let all the beauty know in your heart, and strive to grow in the sun. Irrelevant flowers are the best embroidery in the mountains, so it is better to pick them.

The classroom is hidden under the camphor tree, and the cliff beside the school is rough and steady, like an elderly little old man. Spiny stems and vines turn green plants into vibrant green waterfalls with great momentum, and they are not relaxed at all. Let the birds quarrel in the depths of white flowers and fly angrily to the playground. Gardenia looks very delicate. After writing the alumni record, our gray-white sea tactics dissipated into the past in the long wind of the college entrance examination in June. We have no time to write beautiful postcards on the wooden table. We are more concerned about whether Zhu Ziqing's Lotus in the Lotus Pond blooms shyly or gracefully. The famous songs played by Van Gogh used synaesthesia writing techniques.

My math teacher is an extremely strict female teacher. She is used to reading topics with the word "know" in her hometown dialect. She will raise her voice and we will listen carefully. The chemistry teacher said that the reaction between quicklime and water is purring, and anhydrous copper sulfate solid turns from white to blue when it meets water, resulting in copper sulfate pentahydrate. When you grow up, you are not sensible and know more. I omitted those boring and redundant classroom arguments, and my mind gradually became clear and accessible. Learning is fun. The pile on the table is not green mountains and green waters, but books, insights and true knowledge.

The summer evening breeze fell at the window, and I met a girl named Xiao. When I first met her, she was helping my cousin's flower shop. She is very serious about writing, and a text has to be revised more than ten times. I don't want to be a displaced prodigal son again. I want to live with her in the corner of the world. There is nothing wrong with a simple-minded woman. I thought this life was long and quiet, and with her, it was prosperous enough. Her home is in Xiangtan, and the Phoenix is softened into ink painting, the ultimate melody and the ultimate beauty in Li Zhihui's music. I often wonder if there is an old house where I can open the patina lock. Will the water in Tuojiang River overflow again? Is the hot and sour powder in Jishou delicious? Is it possible for us to be loving partners?

She made me chilies from my hometown. She wrote me many letters. She said that we would have two lovely children after marriage. She picked out a safe bean for me in the Year of the Monkey and the Zodiac. She said she liked my melon lean broth. She said that Nian wanted me to go home with her and meet her parents. It's very cold, so I don't feel warm. She sends me screenshots of Dalian's hydrological weather every day, urging me to put on more clothes. If I am a celadon bowl, then she is the snow in my bowl, bright and clear, prosperous and not surprised. I am not a silent person with her, because she likes listening to me. When she is sick, I will call her name with distress: "small, small, small." She cried on the other end of the phone, which made people worried and distressed. She is very gentle because she is a southern woman.

It's the first snow of the year again. In a blink of an eye, we fell in love side by side and stopped contacting each other. I don't understand why a sensational relationship can go away. Xiao is no longer secular, no longer practical knowledge, it is the sadness and suffering formed in my eyebrows. Xiao is my lover's name, but I am no longer her dream. I have become her thick yellow past, which is unbearable to look back on.

I remember her when I walked past the public security bureau. The wind blows and the snow falls, and she has gone far away in pursuit of happiness. Once upon a time, the past, the old city, the old days, the characters are two different. Always obsessed, although I already know the ending, I still have to worry about myself. Finally, no one in this world cares about me deeply. When those memories lie on the mental bed and pass by, will you think of me in a sincere call? I won't blame you for your indifference and alienation. If the fate is coincidental, we can still meet the sunshine in the spring morning. I hope I am the man with clean clothes and rich heart, and I will live up to my original intention and wait for you in the dust. Maybe it's not necessary to see you again. In this life, Xiao has become the most stable Buddha name in my mouth.

An old friend is old, and the prodigal son does not return. In the dream, Qionghua blooms as white as jade, delicate and charming, like a small white butterfly, playing with pearls and jade for a long time, and like a few broken words. Some are picked in their hands, and the flowers are like paper. They are not intoxicated by the rich fragrance, but they have a unique temperament. Blue and white colors are the most attractive. Mom says it's called a plastic flower. It's beautiful. Like plastic flowers in a white porcelain bottle at home. I don't know why it's called plastic flower. Is it because it is too beautiful to be true, and it is so fake in the dream? However, it obviously grows on a tree and is alive. Whether it knows its name and habits or not, it will be peeled off. I don't care if you have noble character, upright body and pure heart. Time is thin, people will never have bad feelings, people and things will never be ignorant. If you see through it, you will understand it naturally.

Xiao, once upon a time, was clear, and it was also the burning agarwood in the white jade furnace, falling silently.