Snow? Clouds? Willow? Flower

I was worried about my state, the car was running on the highway and I was not very focused. It was only a two-hour journey to take my son back from school. I am getting old!

When I finally got off the highway and stopped the car, I stood by the Ba River and looked at the oppressive feeling that had just put me in a trance in the car.

In the distance, the Jade Mountain stood there majestically, forcing itself on the world, steeper and colder than ever, rising from the ground and plunging into the clouds, as if to etch the coldness of the world into everyone's heart forever, and seemingly to press the earth deep into the abyss.

The snow, strikingly white, piled up along every large and small ravine as if hanging carved a chilling magic symbol, and the ridges were gray and bony. I know there are dense forests there, but they are imprisoned in bone-chilling cold. They know that spring has come, but countless stubbornness and hope still have to succumb and endure.

The clouds, gray and white clouds, densely and impermeably surrounding the mountains, spread out, the suffocating fire of the devil, desperately quiet. They also weave into the shape of a wide crown, piling up into the shape of angry waves, seeming to swoop down and devour the whole world, hideous enough to make people shudder.

Just can't help but think of the clouds last night, the night of the Lantern Festival. The clouds were in the night, contrasting large blocks of light black and gray, spreading the cold without moving. I walked with my children at night. There was no hint of moonlight coming through, it was imprisoned in deep, dark prison, without a hint of strength to break free. Without the bright lights of the Lantern Festival, without the warm noise of people, the world fell into the abyss.

They imprisoned the moon, did they also imprison the sun, imprisoned the whole world.

As you lie there, looking at the jade mountain, you must also be frightened, with the cold wind blowing through. Your name on the tombstone, a scar deeply engraved in my heart.

The wind was strong, it hurried past me, I could feel the power of it shaking my head full of white hair moment by moment, however, strangely enough, it did not shake the branches of the tree that did not have leaves yet, as if it had its goal, it was going to run to the majestic Jade Mountain to go to that cold palace to worship. Only a few dozen dead leaves, which came from nowhere, were flying high in the air, and at first, I thought they were a flock of black birds of prey that could not find a home. There was also wind last night, and many of the Kongming lanterns swayed in panic in the night sky, some of them crashing into the Ba River before they could fly.

Baby asked me, "Wouldn't those people be sad that the Kongming lanterns didn't go up?"

"Of course, they will!" I looked at him in the night with tears in my eyes.

Yet, suddenly, I saw the loess slope on the other side of the river, as if a wall of ubiquitous chaos had been demolished in an instant.

A lovingly tender warmth presented itself before my eyes. Harmoniously dotted all over the loess slope were goose-yellow willows, like small clouds of dreamy mist, fresh as a fairy tale, they were little girls who couldn't wait to go to the fields of spring. A forest of almond trees is a band of light pink gauze. The grass is far away, and I'm sure the apricot blossoms are too. If you approach them, they must be just a single unbloomed bud, like the curious eyes of a little girl. Perhaps there are no buzzing bees among the flowers yet, only the unmistakable smell of spring, the smell of fresh earth, the smell of grass that has just poked its head out, the smell of small unbloomed flowers with the taste of sweet frankincense. There is also a popular, which is just out of the bath, clean as jade, you can even feel from afar they rub upward sound. Those dark pines and cypresses are light and relaxed, reflecting the fresh spring.

Just think of the tender willows on the street, the way the baby picks up a new bud and leaps for joy. I think of the magnolia in the front yard, which bloomed days ago and which my baby calls out to me and his brother to see every day from the floating window. Think of the cherry blossoms in the courtyard grove, just a few flower bones, baby every day to come back around to it, fussing and breathing deeply.

He is naive, like a goose yellow tender willow, like a budding bud. I dare not become the cold snow, the dense clouds of sorrow.

Spring always comes, though again in a flash, the other side of the river sinks back into the ubiquitous chaos. Yet the willows are there, the flowers are there, and the aspens are there.

I straighten my clothes, face the wind, and stride on, though there are still tears in my eyes.