Qiu has the air of late Ming essays, a bit of candidness in the calmness, and a bit of seclusion hidden in the candidness. After Xia Xian walked away, as soon as she turned around, Qiu was already with her.
Looking at autumn, for the country people, there is no need to go out.
The paper window of the tiled house, in Zhou Zuoren's writings, is a good place to drink tea. Outside the wall courtyard, poplar trees hold the rustling branches and leaves high, and the blue bricks, gray tiles and white walls are hidden in the green shade of the whirling, and the painting is in general. Under the eaves, the old man Wuji set up a red clay stove, the firewood was burning, the tea leaves in the small porcelain jar floated up and down, and the ups and downs were overflowing with the strong aroma of tea. The elder narrowed his eyes and rubbed the cigarette in his hand, while the naughty child held firewood sticks and fiddled with the flames through the gaps in the porcelain jar.
Everything complements each other, and it is a rhythmic poem, with just the right rhythm, just the right rhythm, and just the right place under the paper window of the tiled house. This scene has the pleasant landscape of the Tang Dynasty and the tea fragrance complex of the Song people. In autumn, it is tied between the gray tiles overhead, to the sound of birds on tall trees, and to the vines and melons in the courtyard.
In my childhood courtyard, the melon trellis was always leaning against a wall of earth, with moss growing on the caps—on rainy autumn days. There are three or five branches diagonally across the wall cap, and three or five branches are erected at the butt joints, tied together with straw ropes, and a heaven and earth will be born in the courtyard. In summer, the vines climbed up around the branches, the loofah vines went around obliquely, there was a thick shade, and the small stone table was quiet in the shade. In the evening, the dishes brought out from the kitchen fell on the small stone table, and the family gathered in a circle, enjoying the earthy color and fragrance in the coolness. In autumn, the loofah lying on the wall cap jumped over the wall and hung on the inner wall of the neighbor's house. It has become a place of contemplation and watch.
In fact, the autumn scenery is sometimes born from the window paper.
The autumn that comes out of the window paper is called window flower.
The window grilles are pictures, paper flowers cut by the mother herself, the magpie's wings and feathers are full of joy, the swallow's back is loaded with spring colors, the branches of dried plums are covered with frost and snow, autumn, winter and spring, flowers, birds and insects. Fish, the story of the past, the new hope, everything can enter the window grille, and everything can deduce a story in the window grille. A period of time has settled in the story, and this window grille has an autumn atmosphere, simple and elegant, elegant, dignified like the little girl next door, leaning against the door, leaning over and laughing.
Autumn also laughs. The laughter of autumn is the sound of birds in the tall trees.
The sound of birds fell, fell into the teacup, fell into the eyes of the child, and fell into the wind that passed over the courtyard.
I have seen, once, the sound of autumn birds fell on the head of the elder who was playing a game in front of the door, and the head of the elder gave birth to the breath of autumn, pure and white, like a childhood dream, awake, awake in the river of time. The chess pieces held up in their hands are the words they hold in their hands. They use the raised words to write poems, long prose, prose, and the ups and downs of life in opera.
In fact, after spending dozens of spring and autumn in the courtyard, the courtyard has become a chessboard.
On the chessboard, there are the borders of the Chu River and the Han Dynasty, spring, summer, autumn and winter, success and failure, gathering, separation and reunion, Li Bai's leisure and ease, Du Fu's depression and energy, dreams and illusions. During the period of living, spring is looking for spring, summer is summer, autumn is looking for autumn, and winter is looking for winter.
So, in autumn, in a livable courtyard, reclining between rattan chairs, a cup of leisure tea, a few pages are scattered, and there is a breeze, a bird shadow, a flower fragrance, and insects chirping. Some people chewed out the poetic and picturesque, some people tasted the spring and autumn of the world, and some people also read Yunjuan Yunshu.
The courtyard sees autumn, sees leisure, and sees hope.
In the depths of autumn, live in the courtyard and watch the autumn.
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