Reincarnate in festivals
Beginning of winter: That's my least favorite and most difficult season among the 24 solar terms. That's because the winter in my hometown is always so cold and long, and what disappoints me most is that every time after a heavy snow, the whole city is wrapped in snow and ice, as if it were in a huge refrigerator. Because crutches are afraid of slipping, all my wishes are suddenly frozen, and any contact with the outside world is ruthlessly cut off by ice and snow. I am like a bird with broken wings. You can only peep at the clear winter sky through the gap between the windows covered with ice flowers and the tall buildings. What worries me most this winter is my shrink. My blood circulation is slow, and it is very cold every day, almost like frozen meat all day, which is unbearable. Get into bed at night, sometimes you can't get warm in the middle of the night. When I was very young, I had a whim. If one day I can invent an electric shoe and my feet are cold, I will turn on the switch and the soles of my feet will be hot, so that my feet will be warm all winter. How comfortable I think it will be.
Every time I go to beginning of winter, I am like a frog dormant at the bottom of a well, but my mind can't hibernate. I travel through time and space with a little heat in winter, and I am on call, sometimes with tears in my eyes and sometimes with relief. This kind of day will last until after festivals like beginning of spring and Beijing-Zhejiang. I was suddenly awakened by the warm hands of spring. I opened my misty eyes happily, only to find that the snow had melted and the mountains were blue.
The most painful is Tomb-Sweeping Day. Qingming is a sad day; This is a day of pain and heartbreak; This is a day of silence; This is a day worthy of commemoration and tribute.
When I was a child, my mother died young. When my peers didn't know what was going on in Tomb-Sweeping Day, I was very sensitive about it, because my brother and sister were going to visit my mother's grave that day. I still clearly remember that the night before in Tomb-Sweeping Day, my brother would print a pile of paper money with a wooden mold and burn it in front of the grave. At that time, there was no ready-made paper money, but every time they didn't take me, not because I was young, but because my legs and feet were inconvenient and the road to the grave was rugged. But on my mother's third anniversary, which coincided with Tomb-Sweeping Day, my brother finally took me to my mother's grave by bike. It is difficult to walk on a narrow dirt road. My ass has been knocked unconscious in the bumps, but my mother's old smiles and gestures have always appeared in front of me like a movie, and sad tears are scattered all the way.
When I came to my mother's grave, I imagined that my mother seemed to be there, and her figure would appear in front of my eyes. I would jump into her warm arms and cry, but when I got there, there was nothing. My eyes are desolate and desolate, and a crooked dead tree is swaying in the wind on the cold yellow mound. We are three brothers and sisters, kneeling in front of the cold grave, and a cold wind blows our tearful faces, which hurts.
Now that I have passed the age of no doubt, I am more and more afraid of the coming of Tomb-Sweeping Day. Because the fragile heart can't bear the departure of relatives and friends, yesterday we got together, but today we are separated, and the pain can't extricate ourselves. What is even more unbearable is that the wound that has been easy to scab has been forcibly opened again. Every time I go to Tomb-Sweeping Day, my heart is always in the bleak drizzle, in suffering and loss, and in deep sadness, I suddenly look at life very lightly. I look at life very lightly.
In festivals, what I like best is the beginning of autumn. This season is neither cold nor hot, the sky is high and the clouds are light, the sun is shining, the wind is clear and the moon is bright, and the restless heart suddenly returns to calm and dull. Rodin said: The beauty in autumn is more beautiful than that in sunny days.
In fact, I like beginning of autumn not only because of the suitable climate in autumn, but also because of the story full of love and emotion that happened in that autumn.
That autumn, I was called to Nanjing by a distant phone. Clear water and soft waves, small bridges on the balcony, soft words of Wu Nong, bright flowers in the dark, beautiful Jiangnan in autumn, like an ink painting, I am a little confused. Many times I can't tell whether I am dreaming or waking up. What impressed me most was my little sister Nanjing, and I will never forget her in my life. She is just a once-in-a-lifetime acquaintance, just an exchange of letters. She will take me to see the sea, climb mountains and appreciate the magical beauty of nature. With her sincere kindness, she will call me from the distant Inner Mongolia to the graceful Jiangnan water town in Zhong Ling, and let me feel too many beautiful things in life.
It happens to be an autumn, the autumn in Nanjing. The autumn rain is warm and soft, and the sunshine in autumn is constant and calm. My little sister pushed me along the busy Hunan Road, full of fruity, refreshing and colorful rain flower stones, Xuanwu Lake, rippling blue waves and swaying lotus leaves. At night, the Qinhuai River under the shadow of paddle lights is graceful and elegant, and the Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum is shaded by pines, solemn and quiet. That kind of beauty combined with that kind of emotion, as well as that autumn, has been engraved in my life ever since.
From then on, I fell in love with autumn, its quiet beauty and tranquility, and its profound meaning. Every time I go to the early autumn, I will open the door of memory and remember with the fallen leaves. It seems that every leaf is full of memories about Nanjing, and my beloved fireflies are looking around in the autumn wind, so my thoughts will be dragged by memories for a long time. That autumn, I would wander quietly in the foggy south of the Yangtze River.
Life goes on year after year, day after day, and then it gets thicker and heavier, but the days are getting lighter and lighter. The days can't bear the weight of life, and the connotation of life is written into the festivals. Year after year, month after month, the time of "beginning of spring, Fear, Qingming, Grain Rain" has become a year.