Osmanda Yu Anan

"10,000 years is too long, just seize the day." Is it true?/You don't say.

Listen-

You will believe the birds singing on the Ming Fengshan, the breeze in Hualin Temple, and the guzheng played by a caring woman by the Zhang Ju River.

Can't wait to be locked in Guanluo's peach blossom, full of Xiu Xiu, ten thousand kinds of amorous feelings, such as lotus, stand by and watch the river hand in hand, wearing a green skirt and a red hat, and set off for spring. Smile, spit out brightness, overflow warmth, pop up harmony, disperse sweetness and overflow fragrance.

The hand warms the river, so does the meandering water. Not to mention Su Shi, not to mention his sentence "Peach blossoms outside the bamboo, duck prophets warming the spring river". Let's talk about the fish with fresh mulberry leaves in its mouth in Xixi River, Leizu Town. First, feed her mother, then feed her with sunshine and stones, then swim eastward into the He Ju River with double fins and turn south. In the breeze of green wheat and rape flowers on both sides, the shallow information of spring is transmitted to cottages, livestock, farmland and kind people, to the white smoke curled up in the chimney on the roof, and to the local accent and homesickness of wandering back to hometown and missing wanderers day and night in a foreign land.

Moved for a while, the tears of peach blossom could not help but flow down and into the falling river. With tears, it became a thick collection of modern poems and classical music named after peach blossom.

In spring, where there is no water, the peach blossom station becomes an island.

Standing in the middle of the island, watching the vehicles and pedestrians running around day and night. Look at the changes in Cheng Ju, from Bridge 1 to Bridge 2 to Bridge 3. Boarding the long-distance passenger ship with the song of the story of a small town, telling the guests the romantic, romantic, shocking and earth-shattering legendary story in the distant 1752 square kilometer hot land. There is no lotus in Lotus Town, and there are a steady stream of pious, beautiful, intelligent and kind pilgrims every spring. Tell an epic story about the cleanest, clearest, truest and most tearful love and sadness on earth. ...

There are no lotus flowers in Lianhua Town. She is a book of poems written by a woman named lotus.

For three thousand years, this collection of poems has been lying in the mulberry garden, listening to the guzheng music that has fallen on the water for three thousand years. No one dares to disturb her peace, and no one dares to turn her page gently.

Lotus Town grows mulberry trees and feeds spring silkworms. A country's civilization is born from here, such as lotus, clean, but not stained with mud. A nation continues the descendants of the descendants of the Yellow Emperor from here, with incense lingering and blood passed down from generation to generation.

Lianhua Town is proud, and the children living in Lianhua Town are happy. She is the hometown of Chinese characters, poems and silkworms, the mother of the Chinese nation, the birthplace of Chu culture and ancient civilization, and the place of worship for devout believers.

The girls in Lianhua Town are born with beauty and ingenuity. They all look like red and white water lilies in a clear water pool. During the day, they were bathed in the breeze, drizzle and warm sunshine in Linglong Canyon. They stood on the hills and ridges, singing love songs and strangers in the tea garden with the euphemistic voice of larks. Pick tea with your left hand and mulberry with your right hand. Or squatting on the shady dock near the water, waving wooden sticks and smiling, pacing up and down on the green slate together, singing in an orderly way with the waves in the water, and carefully ironing the beloved silk white shirt. At night, I was resting on the unfiltered Bai Yue of Xihe River, holding my beloved pipa in my arms, and playing my thoughts of falling in love with spring into a love song in my heart. Pushing open the wooden door and opening the French window, the breeze on the mulberry branches blows through the long and quiet Wei Zi Garden, putting the song gently in Lang Jun's sleeping ear and listening to his even breathing. Or take a sip of carved wine, stand in the clear moonlight and listen to grandma's talk about the romantic love between Lei Zu Silkworm Niang and Huangdi Xuanyuan, and listen to a small town standing on a bluestone board and a woman holding a lotus flower on the midnight cloud.

There are no lotus flowers in Lianhua Town. In the poem, a woman's eternal swan song has a beautiful legend like lotus.

Her name is Leizu, and people affectionately call her mother silkworm.

Just after listening to the sound of the piano in Xiangshan, I picked two pieces of red maple back. I fell asleep again last night. Bai Xiangshan: Who is the companion in the dusk, Flower and Lang?

I began to miss the Ziwei Garden in my hometown, her flowers and clouds. Miss the person I miss in my heart.

In the afternoon after sunset, sitting on the swing frame, holding a cup of tender and fragrant Lvyuan Maojian yellow tea and taking a sip, I began to tell the story of Wei Zi in Guangping Village, Lotus Town in autumn.

Say Du Mu: A new autumn dew comes in the evening, which does not occupy the most spring in the garden. In the late Tang Dynasty, the wind was tight, and the sky was higher, bluer and clearer. Clouds sleep in the west river, and shadows overflow Jiangnan paintings. One step at a time, the poet wears crape myrtle and wears Cuiwei on his head. Write seven words in your left hand, five laws in your right hand, and hum quatrains in your mouth.

Yang Wanli said: Who said that flowers are not red for a hundred days, and crape myrtle blooms for half a year? In the Song Dynasty, the moon slept in the lake, thrush came from Hualin Temple, phoenix from Fengshan came, fish from Zhangju River swam ashore, dragonflies moved from lotus leaf fields to crape myrtle stamens, and the girl who was in love with spring lost two pieces of red maple and ran into the garden to see the white butterfly fall in love with the red crape myrtle, kissing her distant brother sweetly, tenderly, continuously and affectionately.

The reflection of the setting sun is in Xihe River, spread on the falling water, and shines in the flower sea of Weiziyuan in Guangping Village, Hehua Town, copying into a quiet and peaceful landscape of China in late autumn.

When the wind blows, the cellar smells fragrant. Poets dip in purple ink and write poems with bluestone water: Ziwei flowers are tender, and lovers are lovesick.

Standing on the path, the sunset only drank two or three glasses of Sang Ma wine, and the pace lost my heart, and my heart became addicted, confused and distracted-

In Weizi Garden, spring has arrived, and the songs under the trees are full of love.

Flowers fall in the sunset, the wind hits the shadow, and the moon caresses the lyre.

Falling in love with Yuan 'an, I don't need to explain to anyone how much I love her. While standing in the hot land of Yuan 'an, I love a lotus town without lotus flowers in my arms, and use the tears I have accumulated for half my life to enrich a dry river, to moisten a fertile soil where only myrtle is in full bloom without lotus flowers, and to protect my mother's beautiful eyes and that clever silk hand with a bright heart. There is also a poet named vilen, who wore a white cotton-padded jacket and wrote a seven-character poem on the branch of a red plum tree during the Spring Festival in your company on 20 13, so that the swallows could pass it on to me every minute with firecrackers to bid farewell to the old year and welcome the new year, and extend auspicious greetings and warm wishes in spring.

In this way, I fell madly in love with the snow in my hometown, with his purity, with his cloud-like softness and with his elegant and clear heart. Moreover, I fell in love with the neat rows of bamboos and plum trees at his feet, and Mei Duo with a smile swaying in the branches. Floating on the vast Yuan Ye, it exudes a strong and rolling spring, blowing on the long falling water and the spring sunshine, and turning into a murmur in the silk and bamboo tube.

In Lianhua Town, I fell in love with a poet. I love him standing on the three-foot platform, and Xiao He showed sharp elegance and shyness. Love his heroic and romantic style of singing songs and painting with wine in Ziwei Garden in the sunset; Love him, under the pen tip, give birth to a long, fragrant tea, dark sleeves and plum blossoms. Love a spoonful of drinks in his quatrains, which makes the Huansha girl full of poetry. Love the rigor of his Chinese studies, climb the ice and lie on the snow and finally find the source of the Book of Songs; I also came from far away to love him, drinking water and eating Ming-feng rice.