The green locust high willow swallows the new cicada, and the wind is beginning to enter the string. Pen? Interesting? Pavilion wWw. ｂiquge。 info The blue screen window sinks into the water, and the sound of chess frightens the daylight.

After a light rain, the small lotus turns, and the pomegranate blossoms are ready to bloom. The jade basin is slender and clears the spring, and the beads are broken but round.

- Su Shi "Ruan Lang Gui * Early Summer"

A good poem is not only heartwarming, but also brings all kinds of sensory pleasures - sight, hearing, smell, taste, and even, touch.

For example, Su Shi's "Ruan Langgui".

Talented, temperamental, and more stylish. Like a piece of photography. The same is the landscape, the difference is what kind of heart is behind the camera. Su Zizhan has a unique mood of his own, and he is very good at capturing the mood, arranging the mood, and writing about the girlfriends, which naturally has a unique style.

A shaft of fresh little time, with the beauty of the pomegranate blossom wind, good-looking, good-sounding, good-smelling, folded in the hand, the same as the old kiss under the sun, also warm, cool, lively, shy, old, also fresh, so trembling and frightening...... It seems that the temperature of any texture can be connected innocently......

How good is that? It's so good that I want to touch it, and I can't bear to touch it.

The ancient locust, the tall willow, and the new tree shadows are extraordinarily green and thick, as if they can drip out sap when they are squeezed. The green shade, flowing, flowing, wet, quiet, and secluded, reaching into the house. The blue screen window, the Boshan furnace, the inner point is a plate of heart word incense, and the drunken hookah lingers between the curtain and pillows, which lasts for a long time. Thousands of years later, it will be able to enchant the people of the world passing by through the window.

The cicada song is extremely spiritual and very simple. Nest in the thick treetops. The cicada chirping is also new, one by one is brittle, first in the leaves to try to probe the sound, and then in large patches are connected, like a net spread, the whole season is gathered in it, listening to the high and low cicadas chirping for a long time. If someone speaks, the voice is a little louder, and the sound of the cicadas will stop abruptly as if it had slipped through the net, but it only takes half an hour to continue again - as if the net had been quickly and seamlessly filled by someone, and then shouted and sang loudly and loudly......

The wind is clear. In the shade of a tree. Someone sang "South Wind" softly:

The smoke of the south wind can relieve the sorrow of our people. When the south wind blows, it can help the wealth of our people.

After bending the five strings, the layers of smoke and water were misty with the fragrance of grains, and the affection from the ancients rose slightly.

There are also people who gamble. Black and white are opposite, some people suddenly regain a game of years, and some people instantly lose half of the rivers and mountains.

With the heart as the battlefield, what is staged is a war without gunpowder, go all out, and dare not relax at all, together with breathing.

I don't hear the voice, but I smell the fall.

Slap, smack, smack, smack, smack.

The opponent fought with bated breath, but the sound of the falling son was like a small knock on the door, sometimes slow, sometimes fast, crisp and powerful.

Woke her up from a deep nap.

The woman in early summer is a little blue and white snake that wants to sleep. The cool skin, the warm heart, the embroidered pillow in the deep boudoir, the mandarin duck quilt, the lazy eyes, decadent and ambiguous, fascinate the individual.

After a light rain. The sky is clear, reflecting the lotus root in the small pond swaying gently and the round lotus dew. It's beautiful. She was teased by this beauty. Li Yun, the whole flower, the jade pot slender hand to clear the spring. The spring is a flower, blooming in her palm, blooming on her wrist like a lotus root, showing the form of a pearl shell. One by one, they keep blooming, flowing, rolling down.

The small lotus turns, and the pomegranate blossoms are ready to bloom. is ready to burn, in fact, it has already been burned. "Who teaches scarlet blood to dye the sac, and the green cloud is fragrant. The wandering bees mistook the fire on the branches, and busily drove the wind over the short wall. "The branches were full of small red torches, burning so hard that even the air around them was lit. In my eyes, I was all excited, looking at the red, quenched red, and I didn't know what words to use to describe it. I feel that I am running out of words.

It is for early summer.

The pomegranate blossoms in early summer have a spring-dreamlike texture.

actually remembered Jia Yuanchun's sentence in "Dream of Red Mansions":

For 20 years, he has debated right and wrong, and the pomegranate blossoms are shining in the palace.

Three springs compete for the early spring scene, and the tigers meet each other and return to the big dream.

Is it too enthusiastic and too public? Where the pomegranate blossoms bloom, the scenery of Jiafu is supreme, and it is extravagant to die, just like flowers blooming with brocade and cooking oil in a blazing fire. Pomegranate flowers, grace, bad luck followed, the flowering period of Yuanchun passed, and the wealth of Jiafu was defeated. Revisiting the past in the ashes, all the great joys and sorrows, glory and emptiness, are just a dream of the Red Mansion where flowers bloom and fall. A torch is cold, and the past is gone in vain...... It's a deep and deep sadness. And when the big dream returns, the body is like dew and electricity, and after the great enlightenment, it is forgotten.

The alley where I live has pomegranate flowers. An old house that is almost deserted, with a pomegranate tree planted in front of the door. The trunk is thin and barren. After the pomegranate blossoms are gone, pomegranate fruits will be born one by one, and they will hang on the branches like peaches. The fruit bears a lot of fruit, but no one takes care of it, and it is always eaten by insects before it has time to develop. But it does not affect the flowering in the slightest. When the pomegranate blossom blooms, the flower blooms happily, and the sunlight is a thin layer of gold, transparent throughout, and sticks to people's eyebrows. The flowers illuminate the eaves of the old house, and the mottled window lattice actually gives birth to a beautiful atmosphere, which is very moving and poetic.

From time to time, a one-eyed old man sat quietly under the tree.

Smooth canes hung from the branches. He is old, full of wrinkles, and rickety, showing that he is in his last years. I once greeted him, and he couldn't hear him clearly, but he still replied to me. He spoke leaky, his shriveled lips closed one by one, and he raised his head faintly and replied, "What are you talking about, my little sister?" My heart shuddered. My child jumped around him, laughter spilling into his wrinkles. The pomegranate blossoms on top of his head, blooming on their own, are as wanton as the years when they are gone. The sun shines through the branches and leaves, with divine love, caressing his cloudy one-eye. In that look, there is clearly a mulberry field and a sea, but there is no sorrow or joy, just like when a big dream returns.

There is a phrase in Rabindranath Tagore's Gitanjali called "Eternal Love", and I think of the eternal sunshine, the eternal flower, and the eternal new life.

In modern times, there are painters who paint pomegranate flowers. The flowers and fruits were placed on the same branches of the tree. Flowers are strong. The fruit is fierce. But I don't feel abrupt and inappropriate. The pomegranate blossoms also bloom on their own, and the pomegranates ripen and crack on their own - "the fruit is hanging from the stars, the light is like a glass foundation, and the green water is reflected in the mountains." Each has its own bloom, and it is not the embellishment of the other.

Even the painter's pen power is not an embellishment. The lines in the painting are flickering bright and dark, flickering and moving, flickering cold and hot, flickering soft and rigid, and each stroke is its own bloom.

Bloom alone and freely, bloom folk and auspicious.

Pomegranate flower is one of the five rui among folk plants. I have seen the statue of Zhong Kui who exorcises ghosts, wears a soft-winged yarn hat, wears a red round-necked python robe with a collar, ties a gold-inlaid jade belt, steps on a pair of soap shoes, and holds a Qingfeng seven-star sword. What is particularly interesting is that he has a pomegranate flower on his head, the copper bell eyes are glaring, and the pomegranate flower is swaying, as if he wants to spit flames.

The auspicious herbal smell is filled with awe and awe, but it makes people feel at ease.

The evening rain is red and the pomegranate is demolished, and the green taro fertilizer is made in the new autumn.

Wang Maha, who is also Zen and Taoist, wrote this in the poem.

The rain in early summer is as full and abundant as the color of the pomegranate flowers, and the green taro that fattens out the new autumn is so bright that it can dazzle the eyes. The pomegranate blossoms are desired, elegant, and auspicious. The chirping of cicadas, the rhyme of the piano, the sound of falling children under the green shade, and the sound of hookah in the blue screen window will all witness a flower demolition, like witnessing the crisp sound of another joy in life.

I think that Pomegranate Blossom must be the same as me, and will prefer this kind of life experience and harvest.

Attach:

Pomegranate flower language: happiness and happiness, the joy of maturity. (To be continued.) If you like this work, you are welcome to come to the starting point (qidian.com) to vote for recommendation, monthly pass, your support, is my biggest motivation. (To be continued.) )