One day in December in Jiangnan, there was a light snow in the gray sky. There is no cold prelude and gloomy omen, so it comes suddenly. Pure white light snow, like rice grains and dust, drifts and falls with the dreams I dreamed of when I was a child. Draw a series of beautiful arcs.
Everything in the south is very different from that in the north. There is not only snow, but also rain, spring, autumn and winter. We can also understand why from the works of many famous artists. For example, Autumn in the Old Capital by Yu Dafu, Spring by Zhu Ziqing, Missing in Autumn by Shi Tiesheng, Winter in Jinan by Lao She and so on. At this time, facing the heavy snow in the south, people can't help but think of the romantic feelings of talented people and beautiful women, and recall the lightness of floating catkins. Indulge in the pure white twilight in front of me, hoping it will keep falling, watching it fly endlessly and become a part of the world quietly.
Thinking of the snow in the south China has always been called "light" and "elegant". Indeed, it does not have the heroism of "the scenery in the north, the ice in thousands of miles, and the snow in Wan Li"; It doesn't have the feeling that "the north wind has broken the grass, and eight In the snow has passed the Tatar Day"; It does not have the depression of "the clouds are low and the snow dance is empty"; There is no loneliness and sadness of "a leaf boat, a bamboo cloak, an old fisherman cold river-snow" It has the innocence after introversion, the thoroughness after falling, and the lightness after turning around. Like Iraqis whispering in their ears, like urchins playing around. Silence has a trace of attachment, elegance without losing grace. It's really gratifying.
The light snow falling in the night in the south of the Yangtze River adds a touch of joy to the always monochromatic night. Holding a cup of fragrant tea, lighting a bean lamp, holding a roll of ancient books, standing at the edge of the window lattice, looking at the silver world with the faint starlight, reflecting white against the backdrop of the night, it is more agile. However, I think of the world now, polluted by noise, and even the pure land is nowhere to be found. At this moment, all the glitz and noise disappeared with the falling snow. Listen carefully, only to hear the silence around.
The wind blows up snowflakes, dancing and spinning in the air, as if lingering in this world, never leaving, constantly rotating and rising. Then it fell on the face, covered the forehead and slipped into the palm of your hand. It turned into a thin line in a blink of an eye and quietly passed away. It still belongs to its place of residence, but it can't be retained, and it is cold in an instant. The heat of fragrant teas in your hands seems to melt the snow all over the sky, but it can only dispel the cold in your hands after all. But I am still attached to this fantastic fairy tale world like a child, reluctant to leave, but this is just a dream of Conan.
The wind and snow all over the sky cleaned up the illusory world, washed away all the dusty things and annihilated all the illusory hearts, as pure as an ethereal dream. A roll of ancient books was quietly closed, a cup of fragrant teas gradually lost its temperature, and a bean lamp seemed unable to bear to break the silence and went out. And I, too, drifted away with this snowflake. Reading: Snowflakes are falling.