Classical

On the Gongchen Bridge
I have been living by the canal at Gongchen Bridge for twenty years. On the Gongchen Bridge, I have stood countless times to look around and reverie. Tonight, the moonlight is as bright as the flowing water under the bridge, thousands of tender willow branches lightly stirring the surface of the river at night, willow branches mischievously deep into the body of the river, the river is silently moistened with willow branches, they tacitly understand as a couple of three lifetimes, they are seasonal as a secret language, snuggle together. The spring breeze myrrh, lightly brush my face, the rich spring fragrance, let the heart fascinated. The noise of people can no longer disturb me, at this moment, I detailed survey of Gongchen Bridge, east and west, north and south, twenty years, never so carefully. Moonlight and flowing water silently as a companion, I want to connect the sky to the ground to connect the time and space, and Gongchen Bridge for a long conversation.
By SondJam4 years ago in Fiction
The xisha river
The Xisha River, formerly known as the Chengshui River, is on the west side of the old city of Zaozhuang, which I pass through every day on my way to and from work. As for its source, I have never visited the area north of the city where the Liangzi River, Canglang River, Niu Bei Quan and Tax Guo River meet. Visiting the source naturally does not matter, but the line to the end of the water is another matter, I always return with the flow, halfway back. Even so, I still felt the same kind of interest of the Tang people who visited Lijiuzhuang. In the past few years, I have met countless terrestrial and aquatic plants in this riverside wetland, and there are actually more than I have ever seen. There are countless birds and insects and fish.
By SondJam4 years ago in Fiction
Seeing fir in Mount Lushan
Into Mount Lushan, look across into the mountain side into the peak, everywhere is a beautiful scenery. And that a rising fir, especially unforgettable to me. They are like three-dimensional paintings, and like a poem without words.
By SondJam4 years ago in Fiction
The riverbank trail
The wind in the wilderness is a sound amplifier, the people on the north bank of the river said all the words scraped into the ears of the people on the south side of the river, like face to face. So there is no secret in the wind, it is not afraid to let people listen to it, listen to it is no matter, anyway, people on both sides of the river can not cross the river, and what can be done, rather than let go of the voice to talk about leisure, but also free. A water is separated by various crops, and it's good to listen to the wind from afar and get used to it.
By SondJam4 years ago in Fiction
Poplars in Beijing
Over the years, few prose articles about aspen trees have appeared in the press, probably because the former literary master Mr. Mao Dun wrote the "Poplar Salute", which stands like a monument in the literary world.
By SondJam4 years ago in Fiction
The perched tree
Behind the courtyard is a small hill with a lush forest and competing trees. It is always when the afterglow is slanting that the woods get busy. Sometimes, when I get excited and look through the telescope, these different types of trees are in their own shape, each in its own way, and the nesting birds come one after another. Another year in mid-spring, a mountain of vitality is baked up by different levels of color, different heights of swaying. Some trees are full of birds, making the branches move, some trees appear to be sparsely populated with birds, while others stand in silence, waiting for those who fly to roost.
By SondJam4 years ago in Fiction
The Memory of Mount Chong
The reason why I say so is that I have experienced a life and death in Chongshan Village, and I have also experienced one of the most meaningful things in the country - poverty alleviation.
By SondJam4 years ago in Fiction
Crossing the QinLing Mountains
The Qinling Mountain, in the eyes of geographers, is the dividing line between the north and the south of China. At the top of the mountain stands a stone wall with two arrows carved on it, one arrow to the north: Yellow River Basin; one arrow to the south: Yangtze River Basin.
By dawjackson4 years ago in Fiction
QingHai Lake in spring
Because it is deep inland, spring comes late in Qinghai Lake. Because of the high altitude and lack of oxygen, the spring temperature of Qinghai Lake is low. But even so, when the plum, spring and magnolia on the plain are competing to open, the seemingly yellow and bland river valley scrub and alpine meadow along Qinghai Lake, the dotted plum, crystal flower and microporous grass growing on the flowing rock slope are quietly changing. Especially the northwest needlegrass, sand song and splendid grass around Qinghai Lake, alpine meadow purple flower needlegrass, cold song, phoenix hair daisy, ice grass, clematis are also in the spring cold, cold air gradually spit out the new stamen.
By dawjackson4 years ago in Fiction
Farmer with Alien Power
"Where are you uncomfortable?" Dr. Xu Xiaoya of the village health station took out a stethoscope and put it on his ear. Asked Wang Xiaoqiang, who was sitting beside him.
By dawjackson4 years ago in Fiction
The disappearing orchard
That orchard, it's been seven years since I left it. For me, that small orchard of nearly two acres has a special meaning. We came to this earth almost at the same time. But when I crossed the second year of my life, the fruit trees, which had been grafted several times, could not escape the fate of old age after all. There was no guarantee that they would bear fruit, and it seemed like a certain fate that they would be cut down.
By dawjackson4 years ago in Fiction
Memory of Mang Mountain
The first time I saw Mang Mountain, it was still raised in the deep mountain people do not know. That day, after a long and bumpy bus ride, I was drowsy and felt a cool breeze surround me when I stepped on Mang Mountain, and the fatigue of the journey was suddenly swept away. We found a local to be our guide, and a group of people followed the river and entered the mountain. With the sunset glow, the guide led us towards the ghost fortress. While we enjoyed the craggy peaks, waterfalls and pines, the clear streams and emerald valleys, the water and the mountains, we listened to the story of the late Ming and early Qing dynasties when the team of King Li Zicheng released water and pretended to be ghosts and gods to break the Qing soldiers. The guide is a state farm employee, dark face, messy hair, a simple smile, a pair of bright eyes look bright. As he walked, he used his right index finger to point out a scenic spot on the side of the mountain. Listening to the ear-splitting sound of the waterfall, I felt as if I heard the King's troops shouting, the sound accompanied by the sound of the waterfall shaking the sky and earth.
By dawjackson4 years ago in Fiction