Autumn on all sides of mountains
Shi Chongwei
The blue sky, the faint clouds, like a piece of rice paper with shallow patterns. A touch of thick green ink splashed on the mountains embracing each other in the southwest Chongqing and Guizhou, dyeing a huge autumn charm. The camphor, birch, fir and willow are in a similar posture; the thimble berries, donkey hoof grass, and seven-petal lotus are spread out to make the brocade blanket of squirrels jumping; the grass that is so low as the dust is on the cliff, on the cliff, and on the road where cars are swept through the dust, carefully, using the serrations of a leaf to sharpen the sound of the wind and the birds.
filled with green eyes, weaving an ink-colored dream, like a thought that had never been mentioned, gently tapped by the tail of the brown-headed whisper, and she was shyly fleeing into the embrace of autumn.
The fragrance that began to brew in spring, the sweetness carefully roasted in summer, shakes off from the pleats of the skirt in September, and the sea of Honghai becomes a pot of delicious food with great fragrance and taste.
After a long thirst, the waterfront is full of water and grass. The blue flowers and plants opened the purple-red trumpet and blew the gentle morning song; the distance was dotted, and it looked like the stars of last night on the green blanket; and the whole piece of begonia, the green and oily flesh hung with dewdrops, like dripping sweet wine, and the silver-white markings lure the desire to taste the three-patterned fish.
The fish in the autumn water are roaming with beauty, attracting the pursuit of mandarin ducks and wild ducks. Take a thin boat, plucking the waves of water, and the shaking oars are like chopsticks, rippling with a vivid and fragrant fragrance. The farmhouses, melon fields, roosters crowing, and smoke from cooking passes through the body create a poetic residence. Near the quiet courtyard, I was involved in building fences and planting bamboo, a pot of strong tea, a cup of sake , connecting with clouds and water, narrating with melons and beans, and I was drunk with the mountains and rivers in my heart.
The Great Honghai returned, through the woodland, passing through the tunnel, the breeze sang, the vines danced, and suddenly a cluster of faint bamboo gardens held my flying and movement. I parked and sat in the Aizhuli Pavilion. Birds were singing and flying at the Emerald Festival, and the fine leaves cut out the footprints of the sun. Three or five men and women, sitting around with laughter, singing and singing among the flowers. Crispy bamboo shoots, fried small fish; mulberry leaves, cook time. The gathering of friends and joy of joy, and the wine is just right!
Jade plate hangs in the sky, and the moonlight is like a bathing holy spring, washing away the distracting thoughts in your dreams and changing to a pure night of sleep.
The quietness of a mountain gives me simplicity and gentleness; the charm of a water, the wind brings ripples, softness lingers in my heart; the intrigue of a single house, calmly in the most beautiful fragment of time. In the autumn of the mountains on all sides, I exile me to wander in the warmth.
(The author is a member of Chongqing Writers Association)
