Flowers Bloom in a Thousand Masses, Spring Deepens in Silent Solitude, No One Speaks
Last night, I dreamed on the pillow, speaking for a long time. Still peach blossoms face, drooping willow eyebrows. Half shy, half joyful, wanting to leave and then clinging to it. Waking up, I realized it was a dream, full of sadness. I most fear one day, suddenly understand a poem, although it is light and shallow, it is difficult to depict in detail, but it can leave an unforgettable imprint in the vast years, like understanding a world of sorrow deep in the red dust. The person I once knew, the things we once passed by, were just like dew on the morning, setting sun and clouds, flowers blooming and fading, people coming and going, just a dream. The wind was cold and flowers drifted across, lost in confusion, the little boat in the dream was about to sail to where?
The wind on the porch, knocking on the windows, the changing seasons; the strings of time, dropped the lingering fireworks, smeared the red makeup on the earth. The fleeting time of spring, a beautiful spring color came gently, as beautiful as before, it laid the groundwork for the immutable and eternal, but also nurtured the immortal tone and meaning in the bloom and wither of flowers. It wants to tell us: I am like this, flowing east with the water, without end, compared to the short life of human beings, it has unparalleled superiority, even though being a spiritual being of all things, still kneeling under the feet of the seasons, being urged by the gentle spring wind this evening to become a head of white hair!
Yes, time is immortal mythology, the station of time, the long has become short, the road ahead is connected to the past and present. We are just hurried travelers, able to pass through the intersection of seasons, but not able to withstand the passing of time, but in the bustling streets of life, we are not just passing through the spring and autumn, but also the endless entanglement of fate and memory, creating a legendary and flamboyant appearance of time. After experiencing many life and emotional changes, people's biographical records will be full of overlapping stories of time. Reading it is fragrant as if filled with paper.
In March, when the water is like jade, one must start a new story, saying goodbye to the places we've been, and welcoming the places we've come from. The days of spring always have so many unexpected encounters: walking and walking, seeing flowers bloom; walking and walking, seeing rain fall; walking and walking, you might meet another yourself, gently. However, we have been on this road for a long time, we came from the depths of the, we were awakened by the winter of time; we came from the wide mountains and rivers, we decorated the appearance of the mountains with flowers and willows. Fortunately, we met similar souls, and from then on we had no more scenery in our eyes, because in order to meet, we have already looked at all the scenery along the way.
A red peach blossom touches the spring rain, several green willows are drunk on the east wind. At this time of the year, in March, brought by spring, ten miles of flowers open to the fullest, the flowers are piled up on the creek, low and drooping, but they opened up endless loneliness. In the hurried passage of time, spring comes and goes, flowers bloom and fall, we stumble along the way, only in the repeated and heavy steps, suddenly looking back, this season of flowers reveals the scars of time, the heart's matter is still as clear as the falling petals, swayed by the evening wind, just as before, dyed with sadness, It's the same as before.
In this long and vast passage of time, life is just an ordinary plant, until a sound of a breeze of a tree awakens it, it's just a flourishing and fleeting show like grass growing and birds flying, it cannot withstand the cycle of spring to autumn; in this soft time of spring, the bloom and wither of flowers are permeated with Zen. Exalted and then decayed, things reaching their extremes, in the blink of an eye, spring can even prevent a petal from falling, it's powerless. Perhaps life is like this, with thousands of flavors, and being born in such a beautiful and regretful world, we must be happy for the beautiful encounters, and regretful for the short meetings.
Spring flowing light, distant mountains like dark eyebrows, near water with lingering smoke, dense flowers like brocade, piled up in multiple branches, but flowing with dust and wind, swaying and fluctuating, we are always tired in the pursuit of fate. Beautiful pictures, no heart to watch, want to pick up fallen petals, the pain of the tip of the branches is touching. Time is so quiet, but reality is unstable. But life must rest sometimes, lightly sniff the scent of time, and look at how many colors reflect the shimmering clothes, and dance away the brilliance of time. Both in the red dust and in the bright warmth, let go of those loneliness and regrets, try to cherish today, and say to every day, 'Hello'.
