Wandering Guest's Return
The moonlight is like wine, fragrant and flowing for several miles. The flowing water is like poetry, with a warm melody slowly emerging. The night bell rang eerily in the dead of night. Such a good night, not to mention having guests, even if they didn't raise a glass, they could form three people in the shadows.
Couplets lay melting snow. Not because they had just drunk wine, but the weather was truly warmer. This place is not like the north, and the night falls completely, and then the dry wind rises. The nights here are still as a virgin girl, only the moonlight is hazy and gently scattered, reflecting the alleys of the River in red lanterns. There is no hustle and bustle in the sky, even the usually lively yellow dogs have stopped making noise and quietly huddled in the walls.
The night is cool and damp, a few steps, not walked too far, and the warmth of the red mud stove dissipated. After spitting out the smell of alcohol, the damp air immediately flowed with a light smoke. It seemed that the weather was actually not as warm as imagined. Quietly walking in the wind, the road is still the same road, the water is still the same water. However, the road has become wider, and the water has become shallower. Inevitably reminded me of 'Along the Dyke':
Long Dyke, leaning rain.
Pure water, clear flowers, smoky fire in March, candlelight.
Fine rain, Mengjiang flooded sleeves, small mud,,
A young man's golden age, a cup of wine, passing years, memories never forgotten. The candlelight jumping in the cup is actually able to write a masterpiece with no pen and ink. In the years of poverty, even the most bland dishes taste delicious. Now drifting for a long time, returning home, although it is rich food, good wine, but these cumbersome human relationships are locked in the nerves. The suppressed longing in the heart has also become the spicy wine irrigating the chaos in the heart.
After dispersing the banquet, there must be some small talk. Setting up a banquet and drinking home guests, afraid of lingering. Walking alone in the wind, cold sleeves, smelling that familiar old cellar fragrance, looking back and smiling, it's actually not a young man. The road has been walked, and it still needs to be walked. No one can cross the time ditch to look back, just remember not to forget the original intention.
The bright moonlight quietly fell on the road, flowing water, flowing through time. It seems to be drunk, also fine, can not waste this good scenery, raise the head, continue to move forward.
A moment of clear wind, a sudden rise, as if in another world, intoxicated in the clouds, forgetting when. In the haze, looked at the beautiful moon, the moon's cup shadow, still the same as in the past.
