Wind in March by Yang Zhen
Just over the threshold of March, your heart has a inexplicable impulse, came to the suburbs, facing the vast sky, recklessly fertile field, the body like something to wake up.Feelers, like invisible gossamer, constantly stretch in the air.Subtle changes begin to appear in your mind.Or the wind, a change in the past cold harsh, full of soft posture.You lift up your face, reach out your fingertips, and let the wind slide through your skin, feeling a cool, unbroken touch.Your imagination takes flight.Hidden nooks, like hibernating insects, open their eyes.You open your arms, so that the muscles and bones stretch, the comfortable feeling, like a blooming awning, floating to every open pores around the body.Excited, you cast your eyes into the deep sky.The sun is like a diligent ploughman, full of enthusiasm, spreading warm light.The indigo sky, like a freshly scrubbed mirror, was bright and wet, touching and intoxicating.Floating clouds, constantly with its white, to create a strange beautiful shape.What a world it would be!You have no time to taste, is attracted by a melodious pigeon whistle.A flock of gray pigeons were hovering in streamlined formation.The sun followed them, taking no time to paint their feathers with shiny scales.It may be that they do not adapt to the disturbance of your eyes, or it may be that they are excited. They fly farther and farther, and finally blend into the boundless clouds and smoke.The skyline was still a hazy hue.Brown branches and bare loess, a gray desolation, still delay the pace of the season.The mountains on one side, with its ups and downs, draw a beautiful curve in the sky, like a dragon dancing posture.The vegetation was faint, the rocks faint, and there was a faint mist.In the shade, glimmers of snow could be seen above the ridge.Nothing seems to have changed, but you feel it.The air is moist, infiltrating, greasy, cool, crisp, through the unspeakable pleasure.The clear green hue, floating in front of your eyes, but can not find where to hide, seems to be the result of air fermentation.Steel green branches, against the blue of the sky, the charm of the clouds, as if suddenly from the stiff, cold out of the breath of life.The sensitive weeping willows, their hair filled with golden pigment, wait for the trumpets of spring.Red-mouthed swallows fly about, showing their busy posture.Fly the highest is the lark, from the clouds came the beautiful song, attracted countless birds singing.The tunes came from different directions, harmonizing with each other like a vast symphony orchestra.Ethereal, warm, empty, transmutation, longing, a complex mood let thoughts fly to the future.The ice in the pond is still dreaming.On the broad river, the ice dream is over.Formerly calm river, began to appear surging, from the winding river, creeping down.Under the sun, from a distance, a piece of bright, like a huge glass.When it reached my eyes, the water darkened and turned an intoxicant green, and I could see the ripples.When there is an accumulation of water grass or mud, the river naturally separates, slopes down, and rushes together in a row of waves. It runs away like a child, and when it feels tired, it immediately becomes quiet again.As you walk about, you still see shaggy brambles brandishing their sharp thorns;The withered reed groaned helplessly in the wind.You are in a hurry and want to speed up the pace of time.A few days later, you push through the grass, through the leaves and branches of the gap, see a layer of green bud, through the thick weight, with unstoppable force, out of the hard earth.They are so weak, so humble, so dormant in such a harsh environment, with the help of the sun and breeze to pull, effort, persistence, until the earth is stained with green.Wild birds fly, flapping, wear to the sky, Shouting, joy scattered all over the field.People on hikers are seen everywhere and flock out of the city.Hold back a winter, tired of seeing the white wall, suddenly encountered this fresh eyes, eyes like a thief light.Someone to the open field, like a Wolf howl, it seems to vent the depression in the chest.A group of young people, sitting on the grass, talking and laughing, their eyes overflowing with youthful style.A girl, fingering the strings, playing a tune about love.Kites began to multiply.Colors and shapes swim in the sky like a walk.The color of Bilan, lined with the clear blue sky, attracts the eye of passers-by.There was an old man in a black sports cap, with thin yellow hair and thin cheeks.His eyes were shielded from the light by the brim of his hat, which made them more focused.The sun hit the cheeks with a tan, bringing out wrinkles and spots.In his left hand, he holds a round wire plate made of stainless steel. In his right hand, he gently shakes the handle.The most excited when the children: pulling thin silver thread, neck, a small mouth closed;The heart thumped, as if in a throat;His eyes narrowed into a slit, as if to compress the light together, cast farther;The body staggered along with the rhythm, like a child just learning to walk;Some tried their best but could not make the kite fly, lost patience, holding the kite in hand, running in the field.Suddenly, for a few days, the temperature rose sharply.The bright sun, steam out a small wave, ripples on the horizon.People throw off cotton-padded clothes, a light cool.Let the warm wind blowing eyes, sleepy.Low-hanging willow, can not wait to expand the first bunch of buds, was the wind pulled out of the flying arc.The primrose beside the road spat out its buds.Wild ducks in the river shook their heads excitedly and cooed warm words.In a twinkling, the lively group spread their wings and rode the waves.After the muffled sound, a triangular wave swept across the river.You dream of spring all night.Dream of green lawns, bright flowers, beautiful butterflies.Frogs were active in the grass by the river, singing merrily.The little fish, the frog, wagging its tail in the water.The same familiar wind, with fragrance and sweetness, fresh and gentle, blew from the branches and leaves.There are two dragonflies, chasing each other, up and down, playing a game of flying.Youth, hope, ideal, everything is so beautiful!I woke up with a happy song in my heart.Can be out of the door, only to find that the face of god changed.The sky was covered with clouds, like smoke smeared from the bottom of a pot.The wind whistled and screamed so shrilly that it made your hair stand on end.The branches tossed and swayed, and now and then dead branches broke off.The blades of thatch, stirring again, pulled out little yellow flags.The huge billboard, suspended from the top of the iron frame, groans hiss and hiss and makes you run away.Your memory is still yesterday, wearing thin clothes.The wind is like a wall, pressing your skin, clothes in the gap, like thousands of silver needles into.There were tears in his eyes, and the tip of his nose felt frozen.Before my brain could convert, I was too cold to turn a circle.Suddenly it was quiet and the temperature stopped falling.There was a thin mist in the sky, which stole over the buildings on the ground.From time to time the branches gave out spasms before they could recover their strength.Someone was busy picking up branches from the ground.You look at the day, pull sleeves, DO not know that come of confidence, stride forward walk.There were more people on the streets.There are so many annoying facts in life that the brain has become numb.What is this change in climate?”Pa” 1, the rain hit the face, crisp, cold, along the pores into the body, the whole body will have the feeling of contraction.You wonder when another raindrop, with the smell of dust, hits your forehead.The sound of brushing began to come from all around, like picking up a whole bag of beans and dumping it on the ground.Fine puffs of smoke rose from the dust, leaving pockmarked pits.The ground soon became wet and my eyes seemed to be covered with a thin cloud.Sparrows saw the rain, especially excited, a jump, a flight, twittering, startled off the branches of water.It was the black old grumbling, flying low and heavy with heavy wings, across the river and out into the woods.Every now and then there was a loud, cringe-inducing sound.I saw a mist of water.His nostrils were filled with the smell of rain.On the grass below, water swirled from grass to grass.Not far away, there is a murmuring sound from the side of the ditch.The waterbirds chirped like bagpipes.Rain god suddenly hit the bag, leaving scattered rain.A cheer went up from those sheltering from the rain.Some people wagged their heads and chanted the poem “Good rain knows the season”.You stride out and want to drive somewhere.After a few steps, I found that there were bigger raindrops, straight for the head.Running to the front of the car, a layer of cold rain fell on my head.As I got on the bus, I heard a bang, bang, bang from the roof.The rain crawled along the glass, out of the cobweb pattern.Then a thick white liquid came down from above and covered the glass.After opening the window, he stretched out his hand and found ice grains in the shape of sand!Turn on the wiper, and with a hissing sound, the wiper drives the ice water away, cleaning the glass.Tiny ice grains dance on the hood, accompanied by fluffy snow, creating a joyous atmosphere in the world outside the car.Do not doubt that time is going back, but really, snow is right in front of you!The snowflakes all over the sky, glittering and translucent get rid of, from the vast sky in the companion and come, at this time of spring, embrace the forest and fields, meet with mountains and rivers, is some kind of force contest?Or the feelings of missing the earth?The snow fluttered on the ground like a thousand horses galloping.Snow in the sky, lingering.The wind did not know when to add to the fun, with these elves in the air dance.Its force, like the elite, hand over the clouds, and destroy.They want to eliminate all traces of spring, replacing flowers with snow and ice, and driving away spring and landscape.Spring, the bud from the winter, how can resist such an attack?You look up and see the red plum tree, with a bright smile, standing on the bank and hillside.The blooming flowers, nourished by the snow, are more charming and charming.It shakes the branches, like holding a burning torch, give people warmth, give people hope, give people inspiration.You seem to feel that there is a cool fragrance, immersed in the corner of the heart, let once decadent mood, instantly disappear into thin air.Do not doubt that the steps of spring will quietly retreat.Spring is hidden in the branches of trees, in the snow-covered soil, in people’s hopes.A spring that has not been moistened by snow and ice is not necessarily a real spring.Look!When the red sun, with its long flame, rises again on the eastern horizon, the wind becomes gentle and pleasant again, making people relaxed and happy.The temperature is creeping up and back into spring.Thick white snow hidden, with another form moist all things.Riverside green pine and cypress, bamboo tall and straight, let people admire.As the river swelled, egrets in twos and threes glided lightly over the lake, flapping their wings leisurely.A middle-aged man prop up a long pole, let the foot of the fish boat slowly moving, he commanded the osprey just diao a big fish.At this point, you have a strong impulse to embrace the spring, your blood is still boiling hot boiling, your heart did not aging, did not numb, your footsteps full of strong forging ahead, your mind constantly lingering thoughts, suddenly condensed into a few clear words: mo negative spring, mo negative life!About the author: Yang Zhen, male, xincai, Henan province.Member of Henan writers association, director of Zhumadian writers Association, vice chairman of Xincai County writers Association.In recent years, he has published many novels, poems and essays in provincial literary journals.Published poetry collection through the Black Corridor.