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Listen to the cicadas
The sound of cicadas is heard, occupying the commanding heights of the season on the branches of the infinitely beautiful willows, singing loudly the songs of moxibustion people, and it becomes natural The spokesperson of this restless season. Listen, those people who gathered in the mountains and forests sang and shouted, and thousands of people responded, roaring in groups. It was really a hot wave and the sound of cicadas was roaring.
Speaking of cicada, it is a general name. In fact, there are many types of cicadas. At the beginning of summer, when the wheat is ripe, there is a small cicada with a high-pitched chirp. The local dialect is called "Mai Shao Qian Zi", which probably describes the song it sings like a whistle, and its body is black and not like a yo-yo. It got its name from ancient money-making; a few days later, when the rainy season entered, the black-headed cicada with a strong body, a thick door and a loud voice appeared, which is what we call a real cicada. Don't tell me, this kind of cicada sounds like the "black head" in Peking Opera Jing Xing! Listen, as soon as it is sung, the mountains and forests respond, leaping thousands of miles away; after entering the ambush, "Cicada" officially makes its debut. The cicada has a slender body and a slightly dark green color. Its call is different from the straight and straight tone of the black-headed cicada, and has a higher and lower pitch. As a result, his tone changed, "I see - I see -" I really don't know what this old gentleman who lives far away from the world knows, and is worthy of showing off like this? After the Beginning of Autumn, there is also a kind of cicada that the elders call "no hemp". Legend has it that it was transformed after the death of a lazy wife. Because in the early years, when the dog days came, there was no work in the fields. Every house hung up a hoe hook, and the women began to twist hemp threads to cover the soles of their shoes. But there was a daughter-in-law who was very lazy and idle all day long, wandering around in the East and West. She was afraid of being laughed at, so she would say to everyone: "I don't have any hemp, I don't have any hemp!" It means I don't have any hemp, so how can I twist the twine? Do you want to make shoe soles? Later he became a laughing stock. He died of shame and turned into a cicada after his death. He stood on the tree all day long and said to himself: "No hemp, no hemp, no, no, no... hemp!"
When I was young, I often went to the woods to catch cicada pupae. Cicada pupae usually emerge from the ground in the evening. With their big, frightened eyes open, they look around for branches to cling to. Once they find a tree trunk, they wave their saw-shaped front legs and try their best to climb up. climb. In this long climbing process, a difficult, even painful transformation is required before one can turn into a pupa and become a cicada. The newly molted cicada was pale, boneless, and as weak as a patient recovering from a serious illness. Lying on the tree, breathing quietly, waiting for the dawn of dawn in the long dark night. Only under the sunlight can the weak body slowly become stronger. But the period before dawn is when the cicada's body is at its weakest, and when it is most vulnerable to attacks and injuries. A small praying mantis is enough to put this new life under great threat, making it always frightening.
On summer evenings, I often carry a hand lamp and go to the woods at the end of the village. The night wind sweeps away the heat of the day, and I feel a bit cool when blowing on my body. Standing in the forest and listening quietly, there is a faint rustling sound. That is the cicada pupa that has just emerged from the small mud hole in the ground and is working hard to climb up the tree. Turning on the flashlight, in the dazzling light, the stupid guy suddenly became motionless, as if it thought it would not be discovered if it didn't move, but instead easily fell into the plastic that had been prepared for it. In the bag.
If it's Sunday, you will find a long bamboo pole with an iron wire tied to the top, then grab a handful of wheat, put it in your mouth and chew it until the handful of wheat is chewed. When a small piece of the most sticky gluten is left, take it out of your mouth and thread it on the top of the wire. If you bring a plastic bag, you will have all the tools needed to catch cicadas. During the day, it is easier to catch cicadas when there is heavy dew in the early morning. However, if the water on the cicadas dries out at noon, it will be difficult to catch them. Sticking to cicadas requires some skills. First, you need to visually check the distance of the target, and then you need to check whether it is backlight or backlight, and more importantly, the wind direction.
Cicadas need to have great patience. The pole slowly approaches the cicada from the branch of the tree at the chosen position. At this time, the hands should not tremble. If the cicada hears the slightest movement, it will scream and drop the cicada. Just soak in urine and it's gone. The pole must wait until it is very close to the cicada before gently moving it forward. The gluten at the top of the pole will stick firmly to the cicada's thin wings. After a period of violent thrashing and struggling, he finally couldn't escape. At this time, a male cicada singing a sad song or a female cicada that can only flutter will be placed in the plastic bag that has been prepared.
Catching cicada pupae and sticking cicadas is not only for the small delicious meal, but also adds a lot of joy to childhood years. Nowadays, when I see cicada pupae sold in large plastic pots on the street, I can't help but feel a little sad, because these cicada pupae can only satisfy people's appetite, but they cannot let the human body taste the taste of catching cicada pupae on childhood summer nights. That was fun.
Now, as summer approaches, the songs of cicadas seem to be getting rarer and rarer. Maybe they are singing in people’s bellies! An ancient poem says: "The forest becomes quieter with the noise of cicadas, and the mountains with chirping birds become more secluded." I can't imagine what summer would be like without the chirping of cicadas. I don't know if this is the sorrow of cicadas or the sorrow of humans!
Cicadas, because they eat the wind and drink the dew and do not eat the fireworks of the world, have always been regarded as the embodiment of nobility. Poetry often carries lofty metaphorical meanings, perhaps because it can sing songs in the midst of suffering and reverberate in high places! King Luo Bin, one of the "Four Heroes of the Early Tang Dynasty", was imprisoned for his crimes against Wu Zetian. When the depressed poet was in prison, he heard the singing of cicadas, which aroused many emotions, and he came up with the poem "Cicadas in Prison" that has been sung through the ages: "The cicadas sing in the west, and the guests in the south are thinking deeply. It is unbearable to be mysterious. The shadows on the temples come to greet the white head. It is difficult to fly in due to heavy dew, and it is heavy even if the wind blows. No one believes in nobleness. Who can understand my nobleness and innocence? I can only place my trust in the cicada's sound which is different from the world. The poet Yu Shinan has a poem that uses cicadas to express his ambitions: "I hang my hat to drink the clear dew, and the sound of the trees flows. It is not to borrow the autumn wind to keep my voice high and far away." Isn't this the ideal of being a human being!
"Spring" Zhu Ziqing
Looking forward, looking forward, the east wind is coming, and the footsteps of spring are approaching.
Everything looked like he had just woken up, and he opened his eyes happily. The mountains are moist, the water is rising, and the sun is blushing.
The grass secretly emerged from the soil, tender and green. In the garden and in the fields, you can see that there are large areas full of them. Sit down, lie down, roll a few times, kick a few balls, race a few times, play hide-and-seek a few times. The wind is gentle and the grass is soft.
Peach trees, apricot trees, and pear trees, if you don’t let me, I won’t let you, they are all full of flowers. The red ones are like fire, the pink ones are like clouds, and the white ones are like snow. There is a sweetness in the flowers. If you close your eyes, the trees seem to be full of peaches, apricots and pears. Thousands of bees were buzzing under the flowers, and butterflies of all sizes were flying around. Wild flowers are everywhere: various kinds, with names and without names, scattered among the flowers, like eyes, like stars, and they are blinking.
"The willow wind does not blow cold on your face", not bad, like a mother's hand caressing you. The wind brought the smell of newly turned earth, mixed with the smell of green grass, and the fragrance of various flowers, all brewing in the slightly moist air. The birds settled their nests among the flowers and leaves, and became happy. They showed off their clear throats and sang melodious songs to their friends, in harmony with the gentle breeze and flowing water. The piccolo played by the shepherd boy on the cow's back was also ringing loudly all day long.
Rain is the most common, lasting for three or two days at a time. Don't be upset. Look, it looks like cow hair, like flower needles, like fine threads, densely woven diagonally, and there is a thin layer of smoke covering the roof of the house. The leaves are so green that it shines brightly, and the grass is so green that it irritates your eyes. In the evening, the lights were turned on, and a little yellow light highlighted the quiet and peaceful night. In the countryside, on small roads and beside stone bridges, there are people holding umbrellas and walking slowly; there are also farmers working in the fields, wearing raincaps and hats. Their thatched houses were sparse and silent in the rain.
There are gradually more kites in the sky and more children on the ground. In the city and countryside, every household, old and young, came out one by one, as if they were rushing to go.
Rejuvenate your muscles and bones, rouse yourself, and each do his or her own thing. "A year's plan lies in spring." At the beginning, there is plenty of time and plenty of hope.
Spring is like a baby that just landed, it is new from head to toe and it is growing.
Spring is like a little girl, full of flowers, smiling and walking.
Spring is like a strong young man, with iron-like arms, waist and feet. He leads us forward.
Who is drunk in the maple forest
The autumn rain last night wetted my eyes. I watched people coming and going quietly, the leaves were green and the leaves were red, and my tireless heart, Wandering in the red maple forest. In the past life, for the reunion in this life, I didn’t want to cross the Naihe Bridge or drink Meng Po soup. It turned into a drop of clear dew, hanging among the maple leaves, soaking the maple leaves, accompanying it to be lonely and burning. Let the flames of each tree turn into a guzheng, and let my three thousand black hairs become the strings. In such a silent dawn, I will play a song for you softly. The red maple is the beating flame in the dark night. Black hair is a mark of the past life, and you are an unforgettable part of this life. Only you can understand the sound of the kite, because I was not drunk last night. It was the splendor of the tree that woke me up from a dream that had been sleeping for thousands of years. When I woke up from the dream, I still couldn't grasp the waiting love and couldn't see that moment clearly. of love.
In such a gorgeous background, if you had never come, all the prosperity, the beating flames, and the staring eyes would only remain empty and lonely. Don't ask about the past life, don't ask about the next life, think too much, just get drunk in the quiet dawn, use your constant attention and tacit understanding to heal the vicissitudes of my life, wipe away my sorrow in the dark night, and let me feel the quiet beauty of a maple leaf. With delicacy, the crystal clearness and purity of a drop of dew, the tenderness and yearning of a wisp of breeze... I think about it, floating in the blazing maple forest like this, looking forward to the sound of your horse's hooves breaking the coldness of dawn, I and I The maple leaves are burning together, and the red lovesickness is scattered all over the ground. Pieces are scattered in your luggage, and they are strung together into a life without regrets.
How intoxicated, how obsessed, are you flying or perching in the frost forest in late autumn? Can you hear the distant and pure sound of the kite, can you see the trees full of flames, and the burning talk? I hold the tears lost in my previous life and the clear dew that transformed in this life, and wash away the dust of your years and the fatigue of your past and vicissitudes in this life. Are you tired? No matter when, I will wait quietly in the frost forest at dawn. This is your eternal station. Facing the mountains and flowing water, the thick soil and the yellow sky, I will remember the beauty of life and meet for a thousand years.
I don’t know who is singing a cappella: In this chaotic world, except for you, all prosperity is the background. This scene needs to be performed with life. It is rare to have such an agreement with dedication. This relationship is only meaningful to you and me. . In the hazy frost forest at dawn, if you never remember, if I have never been here, there will only be prosperity like smoke and a dream like a butterfly, falling gently into the background and outside the world of mortals. And I stubbornly used a classical feeling, playing the kite and singing lowly, lingering on the thick autumn wind and fog, and turning the maple leaves red at dawn. But, just, the maple forest, burdened with lovesickness, was getting thinner day by day, and I was thinner than the maple forest.
At dawn, the fog is thick and the frost is heavy. The entire maple forest was so bright red that it was almost transparent. In the drunken past life and this life, I search and search, I only hope to be the reddest maple leaf on the branch, igniting the fire of your life and illuminating the road of reincarnation for thousands of years.