The Story of the Mountain tells us the content of this essay in concise language.

I came out early in the morning, and it was still dark in the mountains. I vaguely saw the mountain shadow outside the window, tall and solemn. There is a waning moon on the top of the mountain, and the mountain is high and the moon is small-it really is.

I got off the bus before the sun came out. I stood on the winding path in front of the mountain village and breathed a sigh of relief. The air in the mountains is fresh and pleasant. The morning in the mountains is very quiet, and the trees in the distance are caged in a faint fog, which seems really unreal; The branches of paulownia trees along the ditch stretch freely, stretch, stout, natural and naive. Magpies are chirping in the branches, and dogs and chickens crow in the distance. Whose flower hen gets up early and strolls outside looking for food. There are few pedestrians on the road, and occasionally hard-working farmers walk slowly past me with baskets. Time seems to have solidified here, and everything is idle and quiet.

The wheat fields on the hillside along the road are layer by layer, surrounded by gravel. The dark green wheat seedlings were covered with frost, and the bleak in the cold air seemed to be afraid of the cold, and the leaves were all shrunk into one piece. Suck your nose. I'm afraid my nose is red with cold.

Probably because there are many trees here. There are many birds in the forest, and the chirps come and go. The "noise forest in western Western jackdaw" is properly used, but it can't fully express the emptiness in the mountains in the early morning. Perhaps "quieter Tonamiyama" makes the morning more peaceful. Clap your hands hard, let the birds "flap their wings" and fly away, so that the scenery is more beautiful in the faint morning fog.

At this point, music seems to have become redundant. This simple and natural sound of nature can make people feel pure and want nothing.

I really like walking around alone, thinking fast and slow, looking and walking. The key is that a person's feelings are all his own, and he doesn't have to talk or listen to other people's opinions and ideas. Only one person quietly appreciates this tranquility and carefully appreciates the joy brought by the scenery. Occasionally childish, shout twice, run a few steps, drive away birds, chase rabbits, not afraid of people laughing. Very comfortable, very quiet, by the way, put all your troubles behind you, this is winning!

The sun came out and shone faintly on me. The cold wind blows gently, watching the weeds at my feet nod to me slightly, and watching the bluestones all over the mountain silently accompany me. Stay in the arms of the mountain, quietly write down your feelings and hook up two sketches. My heart is quiet, and it feels good!

People in the mountains are simple and hardworking.

Men's solid faces, old and young, have been baptized by the mountain wind, and their muscles are as hard as stones on the mountain. Everyone is very simple and honest, seldom talking, only bowing their heads to work.

On the mountain, I saw a man in his forties and fifties, carrying a heavy bundle of branches, passing by me. Back pressure arched, so I quickly made way for him. "It's good for the whole bird's nest!" He praised me. I have a small bird's nest in my hand that I picked up at the top of the mountain. I'm so happy that I have nowhere to say. Finally someone gave me a sentence. I smiled and replied, "I picked it up at the top of the mountain." In a word, he has gone far, as it turns out, he never stopped. I'm not that scary, am I? This is really rare at ordinary times. Just out of courtesy, should he reply to me or stop for a while? I understand it as the simplicity of the mountain people! Very cute! If he stood there and talked to me for a long time, he wouldn't frighten me to death! I shrugged, smiled at his back and went my own way.

Turning the hillside, a man bent down and pulled a cart of firewood and was coming up the slope. Behind him, a little girl of about six or seven years old is helping him push the cart, probably a father and daughter. The slope is steep, the car is heavy, the child is too young and has no strength, and the car just can't get on. I quickly leaned over and gave him a hard push, and finally got up. He turned his head and smiled at me, revealing a row of neat teeth. I guess he wanted to say thank you, and he was about to say that lifting a finger is not worth thanking. Unexpectedly, without saying anything, he turned and pulled the car away. I was about to say it, but I swallowed it abruptly and gave me a flash, but I didn't react at once. I stood on the side of the road in a daze for a while, and then I had a good laugh. The simplicity of the mountain people is normal, so why thank you? He smiled at me and thanked me. I'm still waiting for him to thank me. I judge him by my world standard, and he treats this little thing in the way of his world, so he deviates from this happiness. Interesting! I have been entertaining myself all afternoon! I still can't help laughing when I think about it now.

Women in the mountains have the healthiest skin color, and their cheeks are dark red, like two pieces of rouge, with only a layer of weathered color and a slight brick red. Women in the mountains are as hardworking as men. Before going up the hill, I saw a couple, driving their tricycle, passing me "suddenly, suddenly". The man is driving in the middle, and the woman is sitting on the edge, holding the car in one hand and the shovel in the other. She wore a colorful headscarf on her head, covered with white dust, and the plaid pattern on her clothes could not be distinguished. At first glance, she knew that she was going up the mountain with her husband to pull the white gangue. She has a strong physique. She must be a strong worker. This must be hard. She sat in the car with a loud voice, chatting with her man about this year's income and how far the car has driven. I can still hear her loud voice and hearty laughter. Her flower headscarf, swaying in the wind, is very happy.

I really envy her or them. Work like a man, cook, take care of children, raise pigs, sheep, chickens and dogs at home ... I have no leisure all day, and I am so happy to work hard. I can't figure out how they can be so happy. And I can't? Applying their happiness standards to me, I should be ten times happier than them. Why don't I feel this way? But standing on the side of the road and admiring others. Is learning really a mistake? If I had known this, I would have lived a happy life in chaos without reading or thinking about anything.

It's just ... just like me, I can't lift my hand or shoulder. I get sick for two days occasionally. I'm afraid I can't find my husband's family in the mountains. Who wants to marry such a wife? If I am beautiful, maybe a rich man in a local mountain will marry me back as a painting as soon as he is happy. It may still be possible, but he is not beautiful at all. Still grumpy and sentimental, and ... Oh, my God! I'm not getting married.

Smile.

Well, I'll just make do with my life. I'll just take my mind with my body and go to the mountains for a holiday. What should I do?