A morning exerciser's long footsteps, under the illumination of his eyes, walked briskly and lightly, as if inadvertently brushing off the frost on his arm winding along the river. I watched the elk-like figure disappear into the sky, then walked along the first cloud shadow that didn't seem to be with me this morning, grabbed a handful of moist and soft air and threw it away. Fresh and tender sunshine is inserted obliquely, which should not belong to the warmth of winter and immediately bypass me, forcing my eyes to penetrate into my skin. It seems that an indescribable ethereal spirit has narrowed the distance between Shan Ye and downtown.
It's so gloomy around, how much elegance and time are cultivated silently. ...
The oriole sang at the right time, and played an unremarkable trill with its short blasting sound and sliding sound. Scales jump, or are linked by short rests. Jumping birds not only have no sense of noise, but also deepen the tranquility of the country in the morning.
I don't know why I set foot on a path covered with fallen leaves. There are trees on the left and trees on the right. Needles and broad leaves, yellow-brown and evergreen, capable and lush are so mottled and tangled, showing the dimension and grace of trees in the south of the Yangtze River. I only feel that these seemingly solidified lives stretch their minds in solemn and heavy winter clothes, or accumulate Chun Qing in the coming year. ...
Listen, wind, or snoring? Listening attentively is the sleeping wind. The morning is so bright, it still hides in the neckline of the night and sleeps soundly, until Ye Er, unwilling to be lonely, learns that Suosuo has awakened the consciousness of the wind, and the rest of the wind in this winter just stretches out and sets out slowly.
The red and black maple leaves and the yellow and white ginkgo leaves on the ground, with the wind blowing the last graceful and restrained, still return to the generous chest muscles of the earth until they lose weight and become the most beautiful bookmarks of this ceremony. The long-tailed sparrow's wings haven't been fanned into my eyes, and the song has joined the song of the oriole, and then floated in, chirping and tirelessly singing the sad and unyielding song of life in my ear.
After all, the season is tired, such as the dormant snake dance and frog croaking, curled up into a speculative and absolutely invisible nothingness, breathing evenly, for fear of twisting my waist or voice at the slightest movement. The earth is half asleep and half awake, and the wind that gradually lets go of its footsteps is constantly stirring, rubbing up many sparse and mottled hairs, scratching the stubborn dead leaves of a tree, and a few dewdrops fall with the leaves, speechless,
What about willow branches and green leaves? What about the lush green plants? Just a few days ago, I struggled to breathe in the cold fog and haze, trying to raise my long arms, so I escaped from my eyes and refused to respond to the sun's passionate pursuit? Fortunately, there is a cold shirt, holding up a slender umbrella that goes straight into the sky, proudly standing by the wilderness path, still sticking to the winter season, sticking to the mission entrusted by God, sticking to the lush autumn with endless green blood, calling for the breath of spring.
Wandering in the south of the Yangtze River, wandering in the hinterland of another warm winter, I have long forgotten where I came from and where I am going, just like a passer-by of time, just walking slowly, walking and walking. ...
Walking through peaches and plums, peony, peony, and the colorful flower season when you sing me away. Does that majestic branch point to the sky powerfully and look back at beautiful flowers? At least in the colorful May of rumination, I spent the last touch of beautiful red blood, then turned and disappeared in the curtain of the years, making a curtain call, and buried solidified tears at the end of the yellow or white fat year to nourish the vigorous spring in the coming year.
Second, singing awakens spring.
I think that the spring, which has already penetrated into the mountains and rivers but slept for many days, was awakened by the crisp birdsong.
Two caged birds next door volunteered to do this work in the concrete jungle without roosters in the morning-they got up earlier and called earlier than ordinary birds. Perhaps they are more eager to get rid of the darkness and break the slight snoring of spring. Of course, they feel the breath of spring more keenly and have approached inch by inch. ...
The rain stopped, the clouds opened, and the cold current that had been lingering for many days quietly disappeared. These two birds haven't been so excited for a long time.
They stripped the darkness before dawn with cheerful cries and brought the first ray of morning light in the east. That beautiful song, of course, can't reach the strength and momentum of rooster crowing, but it has a special function of bird information dissemination. Soon, I don't know where to draw a capital beige herringbone, gracefully across the blue sky, tangible and colorful, with sound-the chorus should be harmonious, and the spring morning songs will be scattered all the way. I suddenly realized that spring woke up! Looking through the window, the wings of migratory birds are trembling, and they have merged into the relief-like white clouds and pale dogs. ...
Look back at the cage-an aviary that can be called a mansion of relatively small creatures. There are two birds with white feathers and red crowns slightly larger than pigeons. I don't know their names, but I think they are beautiful. Drinking water, pecking, playing, cute and cute. I think these two little guys may not have tasted freedom for a few days, but they are still happy to be raised. Or the carefree optimist among birds. Otherwise, if we close their wings, how can we not close their cheerful movements?
There are often sweet birds and songs flying out of their bright beaks. Being close to two balconies, I can enjoy them for free at any time. How cozy!
For me, a "quasi-bird person" who doesn't keep birds, it is a blessing to hear that kind of unusually loud and cheerful chirping every day and to take a closer look at the embarrassing appearance of pecking. This morning, I not only listened to them singing Haruka with great interest, but also saw these two guys playing a new trick: first, the last one teased each other, the last one teased a bug, and the next one held it. After a few times, I will change my position and change my angle. I will fight endlessly and I will not be afraid of being tired. Maybe the fresh breath of spring excites them.
From these small fresh birds singing and playing, I have to feel that spring is a bit of a serious dress. I can't help but think back to my early years in Dongting Lake wetland. When birds sang, I woke up in spring and got up dressed up for the mirror, which surprised our eyes. There seems to be no prelude, even if there are a few fragmentary birds, there is no foreplay.
On the vast Yuan Ye, the sparse pale yellow rape blossoms turned yellow almost overnight, just like a huge dragon robe, covered with countless yellow smiling faces, looking around in the breeze. In addition, there are many famous nameless trees and shrubs. The buds on their grass leaves are competing to open, and they are sent to the fields and the air with a green fragrance, which is sweet. ...
I dare not say that my little friend and I are the first people to enjoy this fragrance and sweetness. The most spiritual birds feel harmony first. People often say "duck prophet in spring plumbing", but I think that "the early bird flies first in Dongting spring" can feel the breath of spring from a distance.
The night has not completely dispersed, and there is still a rustle in the faint cold. The long sonorous suona of birdsong sounded the assembly number of Chunxiao, and suddenly it sounded the main theme of spring like a well-trained multi-part birdsong symphony orchestra. In the process of singing and dancing, the seeds of grass and crops crawled in the wet and warm soil, unable to resist the impulse of out-of-body experience. generate sprouted buds and even eagerly broke through the imprisonment of the soil and opened his eyes to visit the outside world.
The outside world has long been occupied by shallow grass, Chinese milk vetch, light green wicker and pink peach buds. In old Du Fu's poems, several highly respected orioles stood gracefully at the willow tips, singing with larks covered with peach branches affectionately or elegantly, and singing the story of spring in a very tactful and touching way.
In the ears of different audiences, the title, rhyme and even singing style are naturally different. The bass is flowing like the erhu rhyme of "Two Springs Reflecting the Moon". There seems to be a violin concerto "butterfly lovers" in the high-pitched emotion, but once it jumps into the ears of the old peasant woman, it becomes a lively and playful voice like the aria "Liu Hai Pi Chai" in the ancient painting opera, and the authentic peasant flavor makes the older generation enjoy it.
In the singing of orioles and larks, trees and saplings began to turn green, camellias and peach blossoms quietly bloomed, and the red apricot, which has been coquettish by poets for thousands of years, displayed its beauty gracefully and justly outside the fence.
Here, the songs of orioles and larks have come to an end, and there, a group of flower magpies are eager to appear in the village, deep in the Woods and in the farmyard. Although only wearing a simple black and white skirt, it can be said to be magnificent under the outline of the sun. Then, gloating with the same spectrum but absolutely beaming, singing endlessly, twittering and twittering, sending happiness and auspiciousness to a farmer.
In this way, the chirping woke up the poplars on the river bank to spit out fresh leaves, and the rape flowers in the field turned golden yellow on the chest of the blue sky and the blue fields, and the world suddenly added more bright colors.
Bright colors often refresh the eyes and ears in spring like waterfalls. They build nests, a small family of birds, draw countless arcs with a small span, and sing a noisy song of keeping birds. Although most of them are scattered songs that pop up during the foraging interval, they still do not lose the professionalism of spring singers.
The fields by the lake are naturally stirred by these spring singers, and the breath of spring comes to my face. At this time, the farmers who stayed in the countryside really didn't know what else to do except sow spring among flowers, birds, fish and insects and cultivate the future harvest.