This Season, I Repeatedly Practice Wearing Masks

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This season, I repeatedly practice wearing masks,Written by: Sun Shuheng,I used to be a person insensitive to numbers, and this year I've become allergic to numbers,Because, a series of numbers, along with the virus and death, are closely related.The fluctuating numbers are like a nuclear reactor, reacting violently.They startled my five internal organs, as if trying to blow out my lungs.I fear my mouth has become a funnel, chanting numbers out.It's really bad luck.Fortunately, the sunlight shines brightly on the world, with slogans pasted on the streets and alleys, like protective amulets.Piles of masks covered everyone.I repeatedly practice wearing masks, covering my mouth and nose.Only my eyes are exposed, observing six directions, as if the mysteries of numbers are hidden around me,The virus is very close to me, impossible to judge, who is hiding, lurking among the crowds and dust,It roams everywhere.Human nature's instinct is amplified after wearing a mask, and the various eyes suddenly become larger.The heat of the fire contained within the mask is like the fire that burns.It's the last gate through which sickness enters the body, and the first barrier against misfortune.The space of imagination is illuminated by sunlight, disappointment, hope and despair wrestle together in the heavens,The suspense of the virus is besieged and intercepted from all sides, chasing and killing, only numbers answer everything with endless changes.The mask doesn't reveal the shallowness and whiteness of thinkers, but learns to respect the truth in the face of life and death.The changing numbers are like mysterious symbols, like pencils, little ducks, ears, hooks, knives, red flags…At this time, 'These are people, not numbers.'All things are silent, all beings hold their breath, the world leans down to listen and criticize the virus and the groans of struggle.The most admirable thing is those who race against death, the white angels' difficult and arduous struggle.I suddenly realized how close disaster is to us, we've been warily and nervously every day, like shadows.We keep a distance from everyone, nodding to show goodwill.When we meet, we treat each other kindly; when we part, don't harm each other, become each other's invisible killers.Wearing a mask while walking on the street is like a walking tree, the branches and leaves have been cut off, leaving only the ribs.The mask seems to sprout new buds in the scar, mumbling and rustling the leaves.I repeatedly tidy my mask, up and down, facing a forest, a lawn, breathing, breathing again.I regain the nuanced and rhythmic breathing, and shout twice, letting the echo resound from the sky again.I stand upright, listening to the spring's story of plants and trees, like branches swaying in the wind, a gust of wind sends our mood far away.I repeatedly practice wearing masks. Because I'm afraid that in a critical moment, if I say the wrong thing,People will consider me a carrier of the virus.Such a beautiful spring day, the remaining snow retreating back to the depths of the streets.The sunlight entered from the tenth-floor balcony of Simonnailen Square. Looking at my lonely body,Repeatedly adjusting the angle, front, back, left and right, head and foot, disinfection?!

'The sunlight is a powerful whip and blood that promotes all things growing!'Thank you for the sunshine, soothing my hangover eyes.I love this new day, the sunshine everywhere. There are words, there are birdsong.I look up at the distant Big Mountains, just letting my gaze, fall in love with the high places. Can't be pulled out, pull out the bottom of the mind.Listen to the wind blowing through the grass and trees, listen to people's voices circling.I love the things I can see, especially mountains, water, trees, flowers.There's a sparrow sitting on a branch, dozing with a twig in its paws.Reading, walking, entering from the street into the courtyard, from the outside into the living room, one by one checkpoints.Entering the space filled with the smell of disinfectant, enclosed, cannot seal the heart, isolated, cannot enter the blessings of peace and happiness,(Author's profile: Sun Shuheng, pen name Hengxin Eternal, from Na'man Banner, Inner Mongolia)

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