The spring rain hit the electric carport, jumping up and down like scattered beans. I walked out of the unit door and stood on the steps under the eaves. I was about to open my umbrella when I suddenly caught a warm look on the edge of the carport. Big, bright eyes and clear blac

The spring rain hits the electric carport, jumping up and down like scattered beans. I walked out of the unit door and stood on the steps under the eaves. I was about to open my umbrella when I suddenly caught a warm look on the edge of the carport.

Big eyes and clear black and white are blessings, but her eyes are a bit too big and her face is small. According to the fortune teller, a person with such an appearance will bring wealth and many calamities. Apparently, she saw me too. She parked the electric car and smiled at me through the rain curtain: "What a coincidence, why are you here?"

"I work here, how about you?" I took two steps forward and held the umbrella in my hand. Hand it to her.

She didn't answer it, just put her handbag into her windbreaker, put her hand in front of her eyebrows, and stepped up the steps in three steps at a time.

"I came to attend an event, but unexpectedly it started raining halfway." She didn't even raise her head, patting the raindrops on her shoulders that had not had time to fall. She looks much fatter than when she was young. Her chin is folded into two layers. Fortunately, her eyebrows are thin and long, her nose is high and her wings are wide, her lips are red and her teeth are bright. Although her facial features have gone through many vicissitudes, they are still beautiful, especially her soft-spoken voice. As soft as this silky spring rain.

Somehow, I thought of Lanshan Lane, where there was an orphanage where I had worked as a volunteer for a long time. It was also a rainy day. The moment I raised my face after cutting the children's nails, a pair of round and big eyes were staring at me with watery eyes. She fluttered her eyelashes and her eyes drew circles on my body. The children clapped their hands and called: "Sister Little Yanzi, Sister Little Yanzi is here." I realized that she really looked like the little Yanzi in "Huan Zhuge Ge ". I hurriedly avoided her eyes and hid my head in my arms. I don’t dare let people know how miserable I was in those days. I did volunteer work just so I could have two hot meals in the orphanage. I volunteered during the day and stayed in a rental house at night to write poetry. I wanted to live a poetic life, but in the end I found that poetry was just a wisp of smoke in real life.

The arrival of "Little Swallow" made me see the blurred shadow of reality in the smoke. She would go to the orphanage every afternoon after school to make bread for the children, or bring fruit milk to make fruit salad or something. She said this was something she learned when she was a kindergarten teacher, and it would come in handy.

"Is this a poem you wrote?" She tilted her head to look at the chalk words I scribbled on the small blackboard in the orphanage, and chanted word by word: "I'm back/with my Boya who has endured all the hardships. The lingering sound/With the ten-thousand-character motto retrieved by Xuanzang/Walking through the rainy alley where you disappeared/The wind has passed through the courtyard gate in advance, but I/have been refused entry..."

"This poem has five stanzas in total, published The editor only used this section. When I asked why, she said that the fragment was more meaningful than the whole chapter. In fact, she didn’t know that I liked the last section more, but it didn’t matter if I published it or not. ." A little grievance came out of my throat with a hoarse voice. She put her hand on my shoulder, shook her ponytail, twisted her nose and said, "Huh, see what you can do!"

"My family lives in Lanshan Lane, and my dad has collected a lot of poetry collections. Do you want to lend them to me?" "Look?" She was extremely angry with her hands behind her back.

"Your father also writes poetry?" I asked.

"If you don't write, you can only earn money by writing poetry. My father is in business."

"What do you know! Writing poetry is my dream, and poets are noble!" I was angrily.

"Okay, okay, don't be angry. I am tacky, and our whole family is tacky, okay?" She pouted, and her two big eyes were like two beams of light in the dark night, illuminating me so hard that I couldn't open my eyes. She pouted so beautifully that I suddenly laughed, and so did she.

However, I didn’t go to her house to borrow the poetry collection in the end because my job was settled. Later, I would occasionally go to the orphanage to wash the children's hair and cut their nails, and occasionally I would meet "Little Swallows". Every time I met her, she would bring me a book of poems. She said that she also fell in love with writing poetry and wanted me to give her more guidance in my free time.

She doesn’t know that I actually only published that section, or it was in the county’s internal magazine. What valuable suggestions can I give her? After a long time, I couldn't resist her, so I pretended to be profound and said to her: "If you want to write poetry, you must have rich life experiences. How can you, a young and innocent person like you, write sentences with the depth of life?" I listened very carefully and took notes. She often sends me text messages, which are simple short poems, and the lines are full of longing and expectations for life. At the beginning, I replied to her and gave her "pointers", but later I responded less because I was busy. Until one day, I met her in Lanshan Lane, and she was helping to carry luggage in a hurry. Before I had a chance to ask her, she spoke first: "My dad is bankrupt." In an instant, her big grape-like eyes burst into tears. I was about to comfort her when she wiped her eyes with her sleeves, took out a notebook from her bag and handed it to me, then disappeared into the alley without looking back.

I didn’t tell her that I had never written a poem since I started working. After my busy work, I will still go to the orphanage to quietly listen to the children reciting the poem "Little Swallow" taught them: "I am a child of the sky/From a branch, from the tip of a leaf / Take the rising sun / and listen to the chords of the changing time from a gust of wind..."

After there was no news about "Little Swallow", I was bored and wanted to pick up a pen to write a few sentences, but found that what I wrote was still The section that was originally published. I know that I have lost to reality, and the poetic life has already left me. My good friend Bai Xiaonuan called me and said that she was going to publish a collection of poems and asked me to write a review for her. Only then did I remember that the notebook left for me by "Little Swallow" was still lying on the bedside table.

Seeing me staring at her blankly, she stared at her big eyes and joked: "What's wrong?"

"Are you still writing poetry?" I asked.

She didn't say anything. She pushed aside the wet hair from her forehead, took out her handbag from her arms, took out a new book and handed it to me: "I really didn't expect to meet you here. If I had met you earlier, I would have I want you to write a preface for me." Her smile was extremely bright on this rainy day.

There seemed to be a fire in her eyes. I knew that I would never be able to capture this poetic look again. (Author Zhao Weimin)