Son, you can walk! Your mother and I will never forget this day. Before that, you lay in the cradle all day, waving your little hands and rolling your big bright eyes. Sometimes I can stand on the edge of the bed occasionally, but for a short time, my legs and feet are not strong enough to support my small body. On this day, you sit around a few chairs and play with building blocks in front of the sofa. We go to the kitchen to get things. When your mother turned around, she suddenly exclaimed in surprise: Oh, Fan Xiao has left! ? I followed the sound and looked back, also surprised; You push away the chair around you, and then walk to the door without relying on anything! When we saw you, you stood at the door of the room with an excited and nervous expression on your face. You smiled when we noticed you. You seem surprised that you can walk.
There are only four or five steps from the front of the sofa to the door. These steps are of great significance to you, and it is the first time you walk independently on your life journey. We didn't see how you staggered, but you did come by yourself. When your mother rushed to pick you up, you struggled to get down on the ground. You have tasted the taste of walking, better than anything known in your world at the moment. You can find your parents on your own two legs and get where you want to go. How wonderful and wonderful it is!
From then on, your life has new content and meaning. As long as there is an opportunity, you must get rid of my hand and go your own way. You walk on the bed, in the house, on the road, on the grass; You walk to find toys, walk to the balcony to enjoy the street view, and walk to chase children older than you?
Son, it never occurred to you that danger lurks everywhere on your toddler road. In the house, the corner of the table, the back of the chair, the bedstead and the door may be the murder weapon that hurts you. When you stumble in the room, you either hit the corner of the table or knock over the chair and hurt your feet. It's really impossible to prevent. I can't count how many times you fell, and how many Wuqin and lumps were knocked off your head. Cry twice every time, then get up with tears on your face and continue on the road. Is wrestling cold? You are eager to learn to walk. Outside, you are more eager to try, and your calves are like a pair of small drumsticks, beating on all kinds of ground without rhythm. You don't seem interested in smooth roads. Where there are bumps, weeds and puddles, you just love to go. As long as you don't degenerate, you always enjoy it. Is this human nature? In your future life journey, you will inevitably encounter countless twists and turns, son, I hope you will not lose your courage when you are a toddler.
The iron railing is like a drawn sword pointing to the sky! You lie on the ground, silent for a while, and then you cry. I ran to hold you in my arms and couldn't bear to look at your wound. I'm worried about your eyes! That was a close call. The iron railing hit you in the middle of your forehead, poked a long and deep hole, and blood ran down your cheeks. When you start to fall to the ground, you always look at us with your eyes wide open. You feel a little wronged, but you soon got used to it and learned to take wrestling seriously. That time you ran along a flower bed on the side of the road and tripped over a big stone. We watched you bump into the iron railing at the edge of the flower bed behind us, and our hearts ached, but we couldn't save you. Your forehead has left an indelible scar, which is the price and commemoration of your toddler.
Son, your journey has just begun. The road ahead of you is very long. There may be no roads in some places. Although there are roads in some places, they don't necessarily lead to distant places. The process of life is probably the process of learning to walk and find your way. Son, you should walk bravely and keep your feet on the ground.
Zhao Prose 2: Poetic Soul
Bleak autumn wind, full of rehmannia leaves. This quiet tree-lined road also reminds people of a quiet dream?
We arrived at the Triangle Street Garden. Without you, everything is empty. It is said that you have come back. Why can't you tell?
Since childhood, the soul of poetry has been burning in the chest.
We've all experienced that wonderful excitement?
Very far. My mother took me across the tree-lined road and into the Triangle Street Garden. I looked up and saw you. You stood quietly in the depths of the shade, staring into the distance with deep eyes and thinking?
? Who is this? This foreigner with curly hair?
? The poet Pushkin. ?
? Why are foreigners standing here?
? Oh, mom smiled. She looked at your thoughtful face and whispered to me. When you grow up and read his poems, you will know him. ?
I got to know you soon. Thank you, thank you for your beautiful and sincere poems, which not only make me know and respect you, but also make me deeply fall in love with you, so that I often come to your side quietly?
Your side is always so quiet. Sit on the smooth stone steps and open your poems as if your voice were echoing in your ears. You are reciting your poem. Your voice is like a clear spring flowing in the valley, clear and distant, and like a violin wandering in the night sky. Metal sounds flash from time to time in elegant melodies?
Do you remember the old man with white hair? He often walks slowly through the tree-lined road with crutches and walks in front of you for half an hour. Do you remember? Looking at his thin figure, thin face and white hair like snow mountain, I always secretly surmise: Is this a poet, too? In order to prove my idea, I made a test with the frankness of young people.
I was reading your "Three Springs" that day. Your Kastari Spring? This confuses me. What kind of spring is this? It happened that the old man came to see me.
? Grandpa, can you tell me what this is? Spring in Kastari? Really?
The old man looked at me, then at the collection of poems in my hand, then smiled and raised his head, pointing to you standing in the shade and said, you have to ask Pushkin before he can answer you. ?
I'm a little depressed. The old man sat down beside me. Dark brown vines gently lit on the ground. His words, like a poem, sounded in my ears with the rhythm of a walking stick. Spring in Kastari is not in books, but in life. If you love life, if you really have a poet's heart, it may come to your heart in the future. ?
? Are you a poet too?
? No, I just like Pushkin. ?
As usual, his thin figure disappeared into the dense tree-lined trees with the sound of crutches hitting the ground?
The strangeness of the past disappeared, and I became friends with the old man. Although you don't talk, you nod and smile when you meet, everything seems to be included. Yes, poetry can communicate with the soul. I think there must be many strangers in the world. Because of your poems, you have become good friends.
And you, just standing quietly in the shade, as if thinking and observing everything in this world?
In the sky, the cheerful morning glow
Met the bleak moon?
It seems that I heard a loud noise in my dream. What collapsed? Someone told me that you have left the Triangle Street Garden and will never come back?
I ran across the tree-lined road with yellow leaves and rushed into the street garden.
I will never forget that thrilling scene: you really disappeared! There is nothing in the garden except a broken rock, which is like an island surrounded by dead leaves and rubble?
Oh, I walked into the execution ground in a trance? A shameful murder has just happened here. Poet, how did you fall?
I seem to see, a few ruthless hemp ropes, wrapped around your neck and chest, pulling and pulling in the noisy crying?
I seem to see countless rough pickaxes and shovels dancing at your feet?
You fell down, still silent and thoughtful?
You were dragged away, and you looked up at the distance?
I just stood in the bleak autumn street garden like a stiff statue. Suddenly, my heart trembled? In the distance, the sound of familiar crutches hitting the ground faintly sounded, but the rhythm became slower and heavier. White hair is like a lonely snowflake, drifting closer and closer in the autumn wind?
It's him. It's the old man. We stood face to face, silently staring at the empty broken base, and no one spoke. He seems much older, and the wrinkles on his forehead and eyes are deeper and denser. What to say, except shock, except sadness, only burning shame. What are you talking about?
As if he didn't know me, he stared at me like a stranger, his eyes changed from indifference to excitement, and his angry and moist eyes danced with glittering flames. It seems that I did all this, and it's all my fault. Oh, yes, it's a group of young people my age, screaming and running to your side?
Knock on the door. Knock on the door. The old vine of the vine knocked twice on the ground, shaking my heart like two muffled thunder. The dead leaves on the ground were rolled up by the autumn wind, rustling like thunder?
He didn't leave a word, turned around and left. That thin figure bent down and wandered in the autumn leaves?
Only me, only the broken base, only the autumn wind in the garden and the yellow leaves everywhere?
What about you? Where are you?
However, one day, if you are worried.
Lonely again, please read my name?
I will never walk that tree-lined road again, and I will never go to that street garden again. I'm afraid to go there again. You know, I used to be depressed and disheartened, thinking that everything was dim and lost, and all my childhood dreams were wrong dreams. It's nothing. Spring in Kastari? Even if there is, it doesn't belong to our generation on this land, not to me?
Zhao Prose 3: Life
If life is grass. Never feel inferior! We should unite all people of the same kind and contribute our own light green to the world without stint. Therefore, the earth will be full of youthful vitality.
If life is a tree, we should root it wholeheartedly in the depths of the earth. Even if the foot is hard rock, we should persevere in drilling the roots into the cracks and draw the source of life. It is certainly wonderful to be a towering tree in the forest and fertile fields. It is an honor to be a lonely little tree in the Gobi desert and barren hills, giving hope to the lost hikers.
If life is a ship. Don't stop, don't go with the flow! I will raise my sail and sail for the sea where no one has reached?
If life is water. Be a running water! Even a glance at a clear spring, even a stream, will flow day and night, stubbornly break through the blocked mountains and rush to the rivers?
If life is a cloud. Never show off your beauty in the sky, and don't just wander in the wild. Turn into rain and sprinkle it quietly on the earth?
If life is a log. Be an unpretentious bridge and let the roads blocked by running water and deep valleys be unblocked again!
If life is just a dead branch. So you don't have to dream green dreams and turn into torches to burn from head to toe in the dark?