Mist, Snow, and Frost Blossoms: Another Spring Beckons
Every winter passing by, I would always think of Bai Juyi's poem: 'Green ants brew wine, red mud small stoves. Late at night, the sky wants to snow, can drink a cup without?' Throughout the winter, I have been waiting, waiting for a snow to come; waiting for a warm hearth conversation, lamplight is charming. Just in the stone forest, snow is rare. Winter, wanting a white snow encounter, is needed for opportunity; frost is yearly available.
This year, several snows have already fallen, fearing to miss, one morning, I specially got up early to see if 'frost bloom is dense like snow' on the ground. Early in the morning, around 6 o'clock, there were few pedestrians on the road, the cold air permeated, the streetlights were yellow, occasionally vehicles passed by, the city gradually awakened, I headed towards the wilderness.
I remember when I was young, once, the frost was particularly heavy. When we were young, we didn't even distinguish between frost and snow. Cold through the bone, the morning, the wooden door creaked open, the world was bright, my heart was anxious: I was going to be late! Hurriedly and anxiously took out my schoolbag, my father said, 'It's still early.' Looking back, I saw white frost on the roof, it was snowing Adults quickly told me to wear more, it was frost. At that time, the frost on the roof was really like snow. The sky was bright and white, clear and quiet.
Frosty mornings, the exhale is warm, a series of white mist. At that time, students would bring charcoal fires and bring an enamel plate, with iron wire around the rim, and three iron wires attached, inside put charcoal, also had wood charcoal. During class, the charcoal fire was placed behind the classroom, after class, the charcoal fire became a toy. The little friends would carry the charcoal fire, in the courtyard outside the classroom, playing with the charcoal fire: turning the charcoal fire, or give the charcoal fire a pendulum. Some sluggish charcoal fires, with the play of the little friends, also came to life, sparks flew out, charcoal fire became more red, more warm. The charcoal fire seemed to be waiting for the end of class, waiting for the revival after class. The charcoal fire's flip is the joy of the charcoal fire player, the excitement of the onlookers. Sometimes the teacher would bring charcoal ovens full of charcoal, after class, frozen red palms, covered with warm charcoal ovens.
When I entered fifth grade, I moved from a classroom with adobe walls and tile roofs to a new concrete classroom, afraid to dirty the walls, and never had charcoal fires and stoves enter the classroom.
On frosty days, I often think of 'Each person sweeps their door before the snow, doesn't care about others' tile frost.' Now, there are only a few buildings in the countryside, and it's hard to see frost on roofs. I miss those frosts, miss those charcoal fires, miss those cold and warm days. When frost passes, it only stays in the wilderness.
Since then, countless frost days, countless lives, in the city learning, working, living, frost experience is my every finger, ear repetitive frost sores. Frost, besides cold, there is also Father Township's 'This year's crops didn't return' sigh, between is regret, is hardship. Frost became a harm to the crowd, evil source. Also cold and harmful, none is good, gradually dislike.
After years of frost and snow, cold and warm life, for frost, no longer disgusted, more is tolerant, accept. It is a part of the sky and earth, lives within it, is unavoidable. Cold as ice, is the gift of nature, scorching like fire is also the gift of nature. Without the cold of frost, warmth does not exist.
A man walked alone in the wilderness, following Wen Tingyun's 'Chicken sound in a thatched hut, moon, human footprints on a plank bridge, frost.' Although there were no chickens, thatched huts, white frost on the plank bridge… but in the morning when the frost was frozen, I also liked to walk alone. In the romantic loneliness, vast and free, remote and tranquil mood, I enjoyed the fresh and natural air, the quiet and comfortable beauty. Besides the cold, silence, there is also the passage through thousands of years, for human life's understanding: life is between heaven and earth, suddenly like a traveler, the sky and earth, who is not a guest? Hasty to come, and hastily left, just like this grass frost.
Half-buried alfalfa is already full of purple flower clusters, frost wrapped the green leaves, purple flowers; they were like being sealed in a glass box, the under-village bean sprouts all bowed their heads, like drinking a forgetful wine, drunk and quiet. A few rows of leeks on the ridges, a layer of ice became a cover, smooth to touch like ice sculpture. The stream was quiet, the field was quiet, frozen world is quiet. The wilderness, a little further in the forest, a man was working, just like my father's silhouette. Every time frost is heavy, my father always goes out early, a hoe, a piece of vacant land. My father always likes to dig the ground in the cold, every time he told him not to go, he always insisted. Digging the ground in the cold, my father said, he couldn't stand still, moved the ground, turned over the soil, the frost could kill insects in the soil. Many years later, I realized that hardworking farmers always have their own wisdom inside.
So a man walked alone, the sun had already climbed high from the mountains, red and bright, radiating light, the afternoon frost will disappear. Frost passed, it is water, it is spring. Frost is short, perhaps because it is short, many things will appear more precious. To see frost, must get up early, catch the moment when the sun is about to come out, before the sun appears.
'If a person knows the law of cause and effect, autumn frost and winter snow are all spring.' Everything in the world, how much is good, you must learn to accept. Change perspective, bad things are not so bad, maybe they are good: frost-covered vegetables are sweet, frost-covered days will be sunny.
Frost bloom is on the ground, winter is about to end, another spring is already beckoning from afar. Faces are fleeting, how can they withstand the years. In every sunrise and sunset, in every inhalation and exhalation, touch, experience, love those mountains, grasses, woods, frost, rain, snow. Only love, hearts can remain young. If the heart is young, why fear years; if the heart is young, why fear frost.
