Prose in deep scenery

Prose in the Deep Landscape 1

Today I was on duty. Before seven o'clock in the morning, I came to the southeast corner of the fourth floor of the school to be on duty. At this time, the children who had just eaten breakfast were jumping into the classroom with their calves crossed like jumping elves. That graceful little figure made me laugh from the bottom of my heart.

I said I was on duty, but in fact when the students were conscious, I had nothing to do. So I still used to rest my hands on the edge of the corridor and look eastward with my chin raised.

On the east side, the southern view of the park separated by a wall is picturesquely reflected through the wide gaps in the trees.

It’s past seven o’clock, and the wind doesn’t seem to have woken up yet, but the park is bustling with activity. People doing morning exercises around the lake rushed forward with their arms swung in groups of three and two, as if competing. The green poplars on the green bank that surround the lake look like a stalwart man, standing at the midpoint of the south side and stretching out his arms to embrace the water of the lake.

The wind is gentle and the clouds are light. At this time, the sleepy Sun was also shaken awake and pulled up. It looked at its little drunken face and made the lake water beneath it turn red with just one glance.

The sparkling water waves in the clear lake are swaying in the wind, and the layers are rolled up like thousands of red fish swimming. While I was watching in a daze, suddenly a peacock opened its tail in the middle of the lake and made a spiral ripple. I was puzzled and saw a black head like a rubber ball emerging from the water while shaking the water droplets. Seeing this scene, I couldn't help shaking my head and laughing out loud.

While I was swinging from side to side, several swallows flying south flew into the sky with their wings dancing happily. The rhythmic melody, soaring figure, and unstoppable momentum are so graceful, handsome, and heroic in the lake-like sky and among the white clouds stretched out by the "cotton wool."

At this time, the jingling bell rang, and the clear ringing sound was like a wind chime shaking among the clouds. With a happy mood, I slowly turned around, raised my head, and happened to bump into the text wall on the gallery culture. Essay on Deep Landscape 2

The back garden of the capital city is full of mountains and greenery. The morning sun kisses the feelings of the green trees, the morning glow dyes the round and crimson smiles of the wild cherries, and the sunlight paints the orange-yellow mosaic of the apricots. With a rose-red face, the flying orioles sing in the gurgling flow of the mountains and rivers, the emerald green grass is covered with crystal clear dew and full of freshness, and the purple swallows fly in the space between the mountains and the blue sky. That is Baili Landscape Gallery, the most charming paradise for leisure and health given by nature in the capital. It is also the main venue of the 20xx Beijing Winter Olympics.

Fresh air, intoxicating fragrance of flowers, winding roads, clear streams, crystal clear Yutan, slippery hot springs, Longyang Gorge with vast expanse of blue waves, ancient times The hanging dwellings and living fossils of paleontology are too numerous to mention. The water condensed in the gorge flows down, which is the waterfall singing leisurely. The mountain col is inlaid with colorful orchards, fragrant all year round, with abundant fruits, filled with the joy of harvest. The red apples are like colorful clouds in the sky. You are safe and sound! The purple-colored grapes are crystal clear and dignified, with plump grains. Each piece is held in a magnetic hand and scraped skillfully, giving me a perfect round shape! The fresh strawberries, the three-dimensional heart shape seems to be covered with crimson rouge, each one is lively and cute. Beautiful and delicious. Beside the sunny ravine, there are peach trees, sparse and graceful, with bent branches and mottled old stems. During the fruiting period, they will offer you and me the sweet taste, pink and tender skin, and a face like a fairy. , I know that it also brings sweetness to people’s lives! Inadvertently, the endless apricot orchard has lush branches, with clusters of snow-like flowers covering the branches, performing a spring-like poem in the mountains of the North. Ruowu is prosperous, do you know the taste of apricot fruit, it is lightly sweet, slightly sour, full of joy, absolutely nourishing the skin, her benevolence calms the mind and nourishes the brain, it is the favorite of the middle-aged and elderly people, send you beautiful , give me good food, and give people longevity as long as the southern mountains and as blessed as the east sea!

The mountains covered with pearls and verdant green, the cheerful good mood, accompanied by the joy of picking, make people feel relaxed and happy and forget to leave. When the birds brought the most dazzling beauty of the sunset, the nightingales hurriedly flew into the mountains and forests, and the footsteps of twilight came towards me. At that moment, I suddenly imagined that the earth's wheels rotated with the sun and I should see the amber morning light on the other side of the ocean. The delicate morning glow and the gushing red sun.

Yamane seemed to slowly wake up the sleeping rustlings, and told her to get up quickly and continue composing the song for the 20xx Beijing Winter Olympics. She gave it to the nightingale to try out and asked her to gather hundreds of birds to form a bird choir and show off her singing voice. Welcome guests and friends from all over the world, Beijing welcomes you! The charming mountains welcome you! The spring at the mountain stream is as always, gushing clear spring water, which is a gesture of gratitude to the mountain god. It is set against the fragrant moon and stars, watering the mountain forest, caring for the grass, nourishing the orchard, gathering the beauty of the waterfall, accompanied by the gurgling stream. The mountain gods are also brewing silently; intercity railways fly between mountain ridges, high-speed trains shuttle around the mountains, and silver swallows fly together with skiers.

Looking at the lush and lush towering trees, the breeze is suddenly explaining; rows of poplar trees are dancing deep in the mountains. The joy and expression seem to make the interlaced leaves weave into the dense shade of the summer capital. The green barrier and the skylight and cloud shadows blend into the charming scenery of the Baili Landscape Gallery. Look at the strange willow trees, which look like green umbrellas holding up to protect people from the sun and rain. The strong fragrance of gardenia floats not far away. Following the fragrance of the flowers, looking around the mountain and looking into the depths of the mountain, the wisps of fresh fragrance are refreshing and refreshing. In an instant, the light of morning, the color of dusk, the scenery of memory, and the music of my heart are lingering in my feelings. I have been here before, and I use words to record the bright calligraphy and painting in life, and use beautiful writing styles to extract the essence. With a mentality that embraces the scenery of today and tomorrow in life, photograph the green mountains and plains, the mountains of thousands of ravines, the long streams of love, the crystal clear mountain springs, the silver-clad waterfalls that flow down three thousand feet, and the blue sky surrounded by clouds. The intimate scene of Shu, the mountain style of blooming flowers and singing birds, I am full of deep affection for the mountains and reluctant to leave. In desperation, I can only take notes to record the beautiful moments of blooming. Essay on Deep Landscape 3

The years are moving quietly, and the complicated scenery slides by like water, day and night, never caring whether people are tired of its blandness, only those yellow and green colors, The mountains and rivers far and near, the ever-changing flow.

If you can pay attention to a ray of light, it must be containing morning dew, rising from the grass, and then slanting on the peak of the Western Mountain, letting the dusk dissipate its remaining red. If you can pay attention to a sycamore tree, it must be that after its thin and lonely appearance, it turns into a sea of ??green in the blink of an eye, covering your window when you wake up on a summer night. If you often pass by an alley, you sometimes meet that little girl with her hair scattered in the morning breeze, who went home early after buying breakfast. On a certain day, she may be as graceful as a flower, with her hair flowing elegantly from your side. Pass. But the old man you saw often dozing in the recliner in the warm winter sun disappeared forever at noon one day.

However, none of this has ever moved you. This is just the personality that turns frost into rain over time, and it is just the way of time and wind. It throws you away, and you also throw it away. You are constantly putting on makeup, removing makeup, tying and undressing your hair in front of the mirror. Just like me, you have actually forgotten to count how many springs, autumns, winters and summers you have passed.

But I have my own scenery, which is laid out in the depths of the years, inaccessible and silent. I will not grow old with it, and it will not change with me; it never surrenders to the dust, but grows fresh and powerful in the deepest depths; I will never be invited to leave, let alone say goodbye. Come, because there is the original scenery of my life.

It was a snowfield with a row of sturdy unknown trees. Although the cold wind raised the sparkling snow particles, I was willing to open my arms and embrace them together. The coldness and flawlessness; I am also willing to stand as a majestic tree, let me and the row of steadfast sentinels, in the deepest depths, confirm the blue and lofty sky.

It was a small road, long and silent. I walked alone on the soft fallen leaves on the ground. In the deepest depths, there was a pure sunset waiting for me as promised. It would not leave its warm figure, but only Give me care and tolerance, and always remember to spread its golden light all the way, so that I can find the way back.

It was a bamboo forest under the moonlight, and the cool moonlight dripped like water. In the quiet night, I seemed to hear the sound of the clear light breaking on the leaf tips, and in the deepest depths, the bound He opened his body and lay lightly on the cool mat paved in the dreamland, continuing to wait for the broken moonlight to fall gently.

Those are the eyes of a mother’s love, distant and kind. It tolerates everything that the world cannot tolerate. It gives me a hint of strength and makes me fearless in the wind and rain. In the deepest depth, it also A piece of pity quietly thickened, allowing me to see the fragility I never knew I had.

I keep moving forward in life, but these scenery that never drift away stay in place over the years, blending with my soul from time to time. Its broad embrace will never abandon me, because it is born with me, and no dust can blind it, because it contains even the dust.

It is a big and prosperous tree, growing with endless branches and leaves, carrying a lifetime of wind, rain and sunshine in the high sky. I keep pursuing its height and its distance, because in the deepest place Deep inside, this is an eternal original landscape. Essay on Deep Landscape 4

I think of the Jiangnan described by literati. In early spring, the peach blossoms are already dark, the wind is shaking the blue water, and the flying swallows are approaching the rain and the willows are slanting. The sky in the northwest is still filled with endless sand and dust, which crosses the city and is filled with vicissitudes of life and desolation.

——Inscription

1. There are vaguely red willows, but they have accumulated into mounds of sand

Walking by the unrecognizable small river in my hometown, there are still vaguely The shadow of the red willow occasionally pokes out a few dark gray twigs in the earth-yellow sandbags, like an ancient man telling the story of the changes in the world and the changes in the world over the past thirty years.

Tamarisk, also known as strange willow, is a shrub or small tree that likes to grow in dry sandy land and saline-alkali land. My hometown is adjacent to the desert and forms a triangle with two meandering rivers. The Baita River is on the right and the Hongliuwan River is on the left. Red willow has been growing silently on both sides of the Hongliuwan River since I was sensible. Hongliuwan River may be named after the red willows that once flourished.

More than thirty years ago, the Hongliuwan River was clear and winding, with densely covered red willows on both sides and vast reeds. There were straight white poplars more than 100 meters above the embankment, like sentinels, standing majestically in the blue sky and white clouds. , together with the tamarisk, blocking the storm dust from the desert hinterland, singing the prelude of peaceful coexistence.

There are many blank sandy areas between the embankment and the water. On the sand grow Haloxylon ammodendron, Artemisia annua and other sand plants. The leaves are light green, with a layer of silver granular embellishments on the leaves. The plants sparkle under the sunlight. Perhaps it is because of the existence of these plants that the river is complete and vivid.

In addition to sandy land, there are also wetlands in the river bend. Pieces of wetland are covered with white alkali. From a distance, they look like the snowy peaks of the Qilian Snow Mountains. There is a rustling sound when you step on them. The red willow grows on these "snowy peaks". Perhaps because of such a harsh environment, it generally does not grow tall or thick. It is only as thick as chopsticks, with branches spread freely in the saline-alkali land under the scorching sun. Showing off its bright red color, it also gives back a bit of warm elegance to the sky.

Red willow has excellent toughness. During the growth period, the trunk is dark red and has small purple flowers. After the flowers fade, the fruits bear fluffy seeds.

I remember when I was young, my family was in a bad situation. My brother and I often followed our father’s arrangements, took sickles to the river bank, cut off thin willow branches, tied them with a longer willow stick, and carried them on our backs. Go home, peel off the skin, and give it to your father, and it will be a white branch. My father used it to make baskets and fences of various sizes for the household. We once used these baskets and fences to carry back the hardships and plainness of those years, and salvage the life that belonged to those years despite hardships and glory.

Being young and busy, we like this kind of errand very much. We usually go with us, and there are many friends who, like us, are ordered to cut willow branches or shovel pigweed. We gathered together and selected the willow branches that were too small to be used. We formed wicker circles according to our size, and then used flowers from the grass growing on the shore, such as small morning glory. , the small yellow flowers of bittercress, the long and thin white flowers that grow on pigtail grass and look like wheat ears are inserted on the edge of the braided wicker circle, plus the original purple flowers on the red willow branches. It becomes a very beautiful and shading wreath. When worn on the head, it embodies the endless fun of childhood, as well as the beauty and pride of that era.

We were still young at that time and never paid attention to the relationship between the beautiful environment and ecological care of this water area and the tamarisk.

No matter how old we are, for dreams, life, and home, we spare no effort to wander at countless crossroads, constantly pursuing the so-called self-worth, and the shadows of Hongliu and Hongliuwan River gradually fade out of our hearts. sight.

As time goes by, I am no longer confused, but the creek and the fluffy seeds of the red willow often appear in my dreams. It turns out that my hometown is a seed of longing sown deep in my heart. It is nurtured in every spring, summer, autumn and winter, and breaks out of the ground at the right time, taking root and sprouting, just like this spring.

Here I am, facing this thin little river with only a trickle left, facing the tamarisk branches and roots of tamarisk trees that have become firewood in every courtyard. I dare not imagine that these three In more than ten years, the life course of red willow tree has gone from being numerous to dying.

The endless flying sand still reflects the vicissitudes and desolation of this sky. I sat next to the red willow sand mound with its thin branches sticking out, and suddenly I thought of Ma Zhiyuan's "Tian Jing Sha". One sentence, "Under the red willow tree, those who are destined to gather together!"

2. Coming to listen to the fragrance, there are still thin branches and residual dreams

Living next to the red willow tree, we have the same fate. , and there is another plant "Elaeagnus angustifolia".

It once stood on the bank of the Baita River. It did not have the condensed model of the tamarisk, nor the tallness of the poplar. It had a twisted and ugly body, and it was unknown how many years it had stood in the wind and frost of this world. There is no way to verify it. I only know that since I was sensible, it has been standing along the river with its strong body, like a team of untrained but extremely responsible veterans.

Walking on the river bed without a drop of water, as long as you see the fragrant Elaeagnus trees that once filled the river bank, there are only tree patches and sometimes deep tree pits left. You can imagine how long it has grown.

On the edge of the tree, there are occasionally new small branches, holding against the sand. With the arrival of spring, thin silver branches are pulled out, standing stubbornly and lonely in the wind and sand, as if reminiscing. The glory of the past was unparalleled.

Elaeagnus palmata trees are tall, diverse in shape, and all of them are ugly. The roots are deeply rooted in the sand on the river bank. The tree body is twisted like a snake and leaning towards the middle of the river. The branches are randomly tied. The iron-green bark is chapped with irregular, old, and shriveled holes, like the thick, dark and strong face of an old farmer in the northwest, but full of ravines.

Elaeagnus elegans is an extremely drought-tolerant tree species and is now mostly used in protective forest belts along the line of wind and sand. When we were young, our impression of the Elaeagnus jujuba tree was only the nourishment it provided to our taste buds.

At the beginning of March, there are small silvery branches cutting knots from the rough and cracked bark. When they grow to four or five inches long, we ignore the roughness of the tree and hurt our delicate but not fair skin. skin, I couldn't wait to climb up the tree, break off the thin and tender branches, sit on the tree that can support my body, peel off the surface layer of silvery sand-like substance, and the watery light Green, crunchy, sweet and slightly astringent, it was a delicacy that improved our taste buds in that era.

The flowers bloom in May, and the branches are covered with yellow flowers the size of rice grains and shaped like small golden bells. When the wind blows, the village is filled with fragrance.

Many times, we would brave the scorching afternoon sun, climb trees and pick off branches full of Elaeagnus angustifolia flowers, take them home and insert them into cans filled with half a bottle of water, filling the room with fragrance. The fragrance has captured my sense of smell for half a century.

Perhaps the pace of the times is too fast, and my thinking has never been able to keep up with the rhythm of new things. Among the dazzling array of perfumes, there has never been a perfume that can make me feel like angustifolia. I cherished the fragrance of flowers.

The flowering period of the Elaeagnus angustifolia is very long, usually lasting for half a month. The flowers lag behind, and there are green fruits as big as soybeans at the pedicles. The fruits at that time are sour and hard to swallow, and we usually Forget about its existence, occasionally picking one and throwing it into your mouth will definitely make you perform a variety of facial expressions, and then spit it out quickly.

In October of the golden autumn, the fruit turns red, like a thumb-sized Elaeagnus jujube, hidden under the silver-white leaves of the Elaeagnus jujuba tree, which not only tempts the eyeballs, but also increases the greed of the taste buds.

When we were young, we did not have as many rich snacks as we do now. At that stage when Elaeagnus elegans was about to mature, the Elaeagnus elegans tree that we had once been in love with for a while would once again become the focus of our attention. We would climb up the tree and pick a few elata seeds every day. Taste each piece, from astringent to sour to sweet.

Waiting is like feeding a full-month child, watching it grow and gain weight day by day, and finally become round and round.

The plump and plump Elaeagnus angustifolia are not very delicious when they are first picked. Many times, after picking them, I will give them to my grandmother to fry them in a pot until the skin is slightly charred. When the time comes, take it out of the pot, and the last bit of sourness remaining on the angustifolia will disappear without a trace. The faint aroma that wafts out when it comes out of the pot tempts me to eat it eagerly. Because of this, my little hands are often burned red.

Put one in your mouth, it’s sweet and delicious. Today, many years later, I am slowly recalling the taste that I can never find again. That taste is the taste of hometown, which will always linger in the corner of your mouth. When you are tired or lonely, when you think of it, a warm flow will fill your wandering soul.

At this moment, I came here to listen to the fragrance, but you are just a thin branch and a dream. I don’t know whether you have been watching this river for too long and retired, or whether this world has failed you. Let you go away tired.

Looking at the deep and dark tree pits, I seemed to see the distant figure of the Elaeagnus angustifolia tree, with its ugly body, silver leaves across the sky, and deep roots blocking the ground. The wind and dust come and go, protecting its mother river, sending a ray of fragrance and warmth to the residents along both sides of the river!

3. The gentle sound of the waves has become a dreamy water town

The Baita River, a little-known river, originates from the snow water of Qilian Snow Mountain in Tianzhu Tibetan Autonomous County, and returns to Hongyashan Reservoir in the hinterland of Shaxiang (Minqin County). There is a small bridge with a brick-concrete structure over the river. The bridge is about 200 meters long. There are four groups of bridge openings of average size under the bridge. Different varieties of trees with particularly vigorous life stand on the river bank, including poplar, tamarisk, Elaeagnus and elm trees.

Maybe it’s because the river is so small that no one knows its existence except for the folks in Shiliba Village in my hometown.

At that time, the river was full of water, flowing like a soothing moonlight. There was no roar of sea water, and there was less turbulence of the river. It was as clear as nothingness. There are various kinds of fish swimming in the water, and there are large expanses of lush aquatic plants on the river bank, like an endless grassland. The sheep graze leisurely on the grass, but we, the sheep herders, play freely in the embrace of the river.

On a summer afternoon, after the adults who had been tired all morning went to bed, we roared and shot out the door like arrows, directly reaching our destination "Baita River". After running to the river, find a cool and dry place, take off your clothes and pants, and jump into the river. Your laughter will instantly fill the entire river.

The river water at noon is warm, close to the temperature of the human body, and it is very comfortable to go into the water. But being playful, we didn’t care about the temperature of the water. We soaked our bodies in the water for less than a minute, and stared at the small fish and shrimps swimming in the lush aquatic plants in front of us. We closed our breath and slowly approached. Finally, quickly catch it with both hands. Many times, the results of doing so are minimal.

Children’s minds are all the same. They are extremely repulsive to the word “patience”. In addition, coupled with the harassment of locusts swimming in the river and midges sneaking up from the air, under normal circumstances, persistence is not enough. After a few minutes, it will automatically give up. Fortunately, at that time, the purpose of our going to the river was not just to catch fish. It was just a kind of game like splashing water on each other, fighting in the water, swimming in the river, etc.

When I was a child, I was a bit thin and weak among my peers, and I was born with a deep fear of molluscs. Many times, when I happily take the small fish I touched back to the small puddle dug for the fish on the beach by the river with both hands, I will find at least one or two long and thin leech adsorbed on it. On the calf. So, after a moment of panic, he threw away the small fish that he had finally touched and ran away, in this way to encourage the leech to fall. Most of the time, this method is effective, but there are exceptions. If you suck it deeper, it will usually shrink into a small ball and you can't run away. I am afraid of locusts and I don't dare to swat them with my hands. Usually You have to sit down and pick up your shoes to take pictures.

After I get that nasty little thing out of the way, I will hear the laughter and shouts of my friends in the river clapping their hands to see my joke. However, this situation is not unique to me. Many of my friends have similar situations, so I never care about it. I turned around and looked at the dying little fish on the beach with its mouth wide open. I picked it up, went back into the river, put the little fish into the water, and then watched it go away with the current.

When the shadows of the trees slanted, we gathered up the small harvests, including small goldfish with black eyes, three-tailed fish with beautiful tails, and small fish that were so ugly that they could only be fed to cats. Occasionally, there will be a few small shrimps, put in glass bottles and go home, with a sense of accomplishment on my face.

At that time, our family background was not good, and every family raised a few sheep. When we returned home, we didn’t need any instructions from our parents. We just took the basket and shovel for grazing pigs and opened the sheep. From the sheepfold, I drove out the three or two sheep I raised, and the direction they went was still in the direction of the river.

The sheep knew exactly where they were going. After they were released, they trotted all the way into the grassland without us chasing them. After putting the sheep into the grass, we started shoveling the grass for the pigs we raised at home.

At times like this, we work very quickly, because where there are pigweeds, there are also watermelons and cucumbers that we miss.

There was no time for off-season vegetables and fruits. Fruits and vegetables were only available in summer and autumn. Therefore, the watermelons and cucumbers planted by the production team across the river undoubtedly became our targets. Six people per In the team, two people stood guard, two people stole melons, and two people responded in the river. Usually, they dig a deeper pit in the river in advance, bury the stolen loot in the sand in the water, then run ashore, pick up a basket filled with pigweed, wade through the water, and then dig out the fruits and sit down. Solace the long-awaited gluttons and hungry stomachs on the river bank.

The sweet smell of watermelon makes me, standing on the debris-strewn riverbed, reminisce about it for half a century. It is as sweet as the water of a small river, carrying the desolation weathered by the vicissitudes of life, entering this former water body and entering my equally desolate heart at this moment.

Looking around, there are red, white, black and other plastic bags and remains of plastic bottles floating everywhere on the river bed, hanging on the dead branches lying on the beach. sound, showing off their arrogance wantonly. Amidst the devastation, I can no longer find the clear stream and clean green sand that I once had.

These species, which had never appeared in the countryside more than thirty years ago, and the yellow sand and dust in the river, showed me the fruits of victory. It was they who nibbled and swallowed this river. Was the river once clear?

The playful laughter in the river is still in my ears, the joy of fishing in the river is still in front of my eyes, the longing given by the river is still in our dreams, but the appearance of the river is so unrecognizable.

In the setting sun, I raised my head to the west, held up a handful of yellow sand, and watched the grains of sand slowly flow away between my fingers, like a calendar that has passed through the years, turning page by page. open. I seem to see some fragments, a bit of starlight, and a wisp of dream images scattered in the depths of time, flowing with the warm breath of life and youth and the spirituality of ice and snow, splashing in the palm of my hand like a piece of ink, So clear, so holy, with a myth like the stars and the moon, sinking into the depths of my heart's memory, sinking into the quiet heart of the river, the scenery remains the same, and the sound of the waves is gentle.