Just Reading
On a spring day when flowers are blooming, it is the time for reading.
In this spring breeze, neither cold nor hot, take a book with you and walk to the fields and countryside, sitting under the shade of trees, immersed in the rippling green waves of wheat, and feeling the gentle spring breeze on your face. Open the pages of the book and step into a comfortable spiritual world.
At this time, you must read leisure essays and poetic novels.
Here, I can follow Sholokhov wandering along the banks of the Dnieper, feeling the grandeur of the Cossacks; I can follow Turgenev roaming the forests of central Russia, becoming a hunter; I can follow Pierre Mel to Provence in southern France, experiencing the local customs and culture; I can follow Jules Verne to travel around the world; and follow Li Juan and Liu Liangcheng wandering in Xinjiang. I can follow those famous and not-so-famous writers to explore our vast country, experiencing the local customs and cultures. Here, there is no phone ringtone, no worldly distractions, only a quiet mind. When tired from reading, I will draw my thoughts back from foreign lands, looking up to see the landscape that I was born and raised in, familiar beyond recognition, looking at the purple tower of locust flowers swaying in the wind; looking at the distant Mount Jiang; looking at the people working in the fields, the hometown scenery is so beautiful!
This thick yellow earth has left countless footprints for me to run on; this thick yellow earth is layered and stacked, unknown to countless generations. This yellow earth is like a thick, heavy book, layer upon layer, page by page, recording history, recording the joys and sorrows of ancestors, farewells and reunions, allowing us to feel the long-lasting sentiments of our ancestors.
Look, the fire of Xihoude still shines brightly; listen, the farewell songs of Puzhou are still poignant, the figure under the is still leaning against the tree and looking into the distance… page after page of books, word after word, scenes after scene, stories without end, short and heartfelt, long and sincere.
Returning home, stroking a row of books. Yes, at this moment they are silent. Although they are made of paper and ink, the writers have given them ideas, and they have gained spirituality because of it.
Reading accompanies the four seasons, bringing a refreshing taste that lasts a lifetime. I read with my hands always by my side throughout the year, with my most loyal confidants, and my life becomes more wonderful because of books, and my vision expands because of it. I can follow Milodar in the Ukrainian snowfields in the hot summer, feeling the purity and passion of; I can follow Huang Yongyu in the cold winter nights, wandering in his river without worries; I can follow Lin Qing Xuan to experience the quietness of Buddhism in the bustling city; I can follow Zhang Hen Shui to experience the prosperity of the Golden Family; I can have a dialogue with Sima Qian that transcends history; I can converse with Sanmao from thousands of miles away.
In life, I therefore use a pen to record everyday moments with a pen, and many years later, when I look back, I can smile with nostalgia, cry with laughter, have endless thoughts of missing you, and also have endless anticipation. Yes, reading has taught me to organize and summarize, give me memories and hope. Reading keeps my spiritual world constantly enriched, and allows me to remain optimistic and positive in my own thoughts. With so many mentors' ideas accompanying me, I don't feel lonely; I immerse myself in the sea of books, and I will be intoxicated for a lifetime.
