"October belongs to colorful leaves, and now in this world, their colorful brilliance shines everywhere. Just like fruits, leaves and days themselves, they show brilliant colors just before they fall. This year is also close to rest. 10 is the sky at sunset, and 1 10 is the twilight that follows. " (Autumn in henry david thoreau, USA)
In fact, since August, our season has entered autumn. It will be a few days before you can see the colorful leaves painted in autumn described by the American who lives alone by Walden Lake. This is not something you can see casually. Because it is a gradual process to wait for every leaf to be painted with autumn colors. From August to 10, although not too long, it is also connected by dozens of days and nights. Therefore, you have enough time to watch the leaves of many trees on the roadside lose their green color little by little, and penetrate various colors into all parts of the leaves like quicksand. This color is much thicker than its original green color, but it lacks a trace of toughness and reflective luster. The roughness of the surface is a concave-convex sculpture carefully designed to absorb the autumn sunshine. They folded the light repeatedly and used it as building materials to build a bird's nest of light, just like a vector diagram. When the green leaves are ripe and blend in with the autumn colors, you really have to bend over to distinguish them.
In autumn, I talk to some plants almost every day. If I talk to every plant I see in staring language, you will save the whole pronunciation process. In this conversation, you can completely immerse yourself in it and enjoy the silence of the world without noise, which always makes people cry.
In this way, I won't miss any chance to see plants. Some of these plants have names and some have no names. There are too many of them. When I stared at them in a daze, I looked up, the sky was blue and transparent, and the leaves were greener. How I like silence. Many times I sit empty-handed, and I can't say a word for a long time, and I don't want to talk to anyone, let alone talk endlessly. But these leaves always fall on purpose when I pass by; Some landed at my feet, some hit me on the shoulder, and some fell on the grass in front with a shout. They attract my attention in various ways and methods; If you can't drop one piece, you will drop two pieces and three pieces; If three dollars and four dollars are not enough, it will be aggressive and collective. The way they land always surprises me, which makes me have to look at them when I concentrate on walking, and I can't help but slow down, lean forward and bend down; Sometimes, I have to squat and kneel, looking at the past one by one, meticulous and full of curiosity. I always have enough time to appreciate these fallen leaves and talk to them. We speak our own language, but we must believe that we understand each other; And the sign language they play, I will also translate it into fluent Chinese; Even if they sigh lightly, I can listen. In autumn, such sighs come and go, passing through the cool air, the crisp autumn wind and the bodies of countless plants. I can't help hearing this voice, my heart is too quiet; My ears are too sensitive; Maybe I like silence too much. I captured the sound accurately, just as I was lying in the center of the earth and heard the heartbeat of the earth. I also like to look at the veins of these leaves, and the branches and leaves are covered with the surface of the leaves like silk screens. Of course, they can emit heat, just like our normal body temperature; Of course they can breathe, just like we breathe evenly. Otherwise, why do I always hold it in my hand and gently bend my ears to listen to the sound of their small water system rising tide?
After entering autumn, they fall faster and faster day by day, and leaves are everywhere. But after all, this is the leaves accumulated day by day, not the leaves swarming down collectively. It didn't rain this autumn, and it hasn't rained for a long time, so the leaves are just like that and refuse to fall early. It was not until beginning of winter's post-Light Snow Festival, which was165438+1October 24th, that the leaves fell the most. Poplar is covered with a thick layer of leaves, and willow is covered with a small layer of discolored leaves. Looking at the falling leaves, I know that another season is slowly devouring our winter life and our last light and heat. Looking at the fallen leaves and bare trees, I said over and over again in my heart, this is the law of nature, this is the law of nature!
Walking under the poplar, I saw that all the leaves were swept under the roots, and a thick layer was like a carpet, which was soft and continuous. I found myself as light as a weightless leaf. At this time, I am also one of the 10,000 leaves in Qian Qian, and I am doing free fall. When my body flutters with some leaves in the wind, I don't know which one to follow. I chose a thick and generous leaf, but I never thought that such a generous leaf was so fragile that I had to hold it in my hand wholeheartedly and carefully to prevent it from becoming a broken side. And many leaves, some sparsely dotted under a tall or low plant, some fell between two cold iron bars of the fence, and some came to the middle of the road regardless of loneliness. At this time, a car flew past regardless, and the leaves hissed and broke. Looking at the car flying through the leaves, I said nervously and eagerly, no, no, it's also a fresh life, a beautiful autumn!
Autumn is a butterfly.
My eyes crossed the fence and stared at the two lonely ginkgo trees in the distance. At this time, its sparse leaves have turned into warm golden yellow, hanging on the original lush crown, while more leaves fall under the roots and jump on the grass tips.
Since the summer when I found them, I have been expecting these two ginkgo trees to grow up and grow into a big tree. I hope their leaves cover their branches luxuriantly in summer, so that they can have a golden color when autumn comes. However, after a few summers, these two ginkgo trees seem to be not much different from before: the leaves are sparse and weak, like a child who is difficult to feed; It seems that I am particularly afraid of the heat in summer and most worried about the severe frost in winter. Nevertheless, in autumn, its leaves turn yellow day by day and fall in the autumn wind, so the tree is covered with countless golden leaves, like countless golden butterflies flying in the wind. At this time, if you tell people that there are many butterflies there, you will be called an idiot. But I don't think so. When you walk under the ginkgo tree, you must be as firm as me and agree with me. Indeed, the leaves of ginkgo trees, resting obliquely on the grass tips, are no different from the flapping golden butterflies.
One day, in order to prove my point, I stepped out of the fence and stood in the bushes, paying close attention (if this is also a collection of years, there is nothing wrong with it). I am like the little boy who curiously picked up a fallen flower when walking through the buttonwood tree after the rain, and wanted to show his mother how strange this flower is (how can my curiosity be as naive as a child? ), but in my subconscious, I am really afraid that once I get close, they will fly away, so I keep a few steps away from them. I just looked at the ginkgo tree and studied it carefully-those leaves cut into the grass tip one by one, blown by the wind, like dancing, really like butterflies just dozing there. I also kept my distance from them, neither near nor far, and stood for a long time.
A few days later, I walked out of the fence and stood by the ginkgo tree not far away. Actually, I want to see if those butterflies have flown. From a distance, I can see that the butterflies on the grass tip are still there, but the autumn wind is a little harsh, which makes the leaves of those butterflies old again, and the others are no different from before.
A few days later, it rained at night and the frost came down at once. In the morning, you can see a faint layer of water vapor on the grass tip. After two or three frosts, the tip of the grass soon turned yellow. I know those butterflies shouldn't wait for me to see them. However, I still insist on getting close to the ginkgo tree at noon. It's still so far away, in the same position. I looked around, and there was really nothing on the grass tip under the ginkgo tree. Where have all those golden leaves that are obliquely inserted at the tip of the grass gone?
Now, I still go for a walk from time to time. Every time I walk under the ginkgo tree, I clearly see a quivering little life on the withered grass tip, but nothing should appear this season. There must be something wrong with my eyes. So, I watched it again and again in my mind, and I couldn't choose between butterflies and ginkgo leaves and my eyes. After asking several times, I was not sure, so I stopped worrying. Butterflies flying on the grass tips become ginkgo leaves, or ginkgo leaves flying among trees are also dreamlike beauty. For example, in a few days, butterflies will become "dirt" and ginkgo leaves will become "insect pupae". Who can guarantee that ginkgo garden will not become a butterfly next spring? And the buds drilled from the hard ginkgo tree are not another life for those butterflies?
I believe this legend is great, although it is literary. I believe that the transformation of the leaves of butterflies and ginkgo trees is a change of inner beauty, and it is an illusion about the beauty of seeing flowers slowly with two eyes.
Autumn is fruit.
These are fruits that people never pay attention to. However, in Thoreau's idea, they can be written as fables. Then, if I follow this truth, I believe I can also find my hound, my chestnut horse and turtledove here.
Every autumn, my vision and sense of smell are very sensitive, and I can't find a more reasonable explanation except my personal experience when I was young. Once, I threw them away and went to a place where I would never see them again, as if this was my distance. Many years later, when I met them at close range, I suddenly breathed their fragrance-the rich autumn breath was mixed in the autumn fields, and my emotional waves could no longer be suppressed. I can't find a more reasonable explanation for this except the traces of personal experience and the presupposition of my youth. Especially in this case, the tears I shed unconsciously and the sobs stuck in my throat made me doubt that what I abandoned in my early years was my distance! Does this also mean that something seems to be lost, but in fact, it quietly follows you, hides in the space you walk through, and only appears when necessary, moving you and crushing the defense line you set for it. When I discovered this secret, I could no longer ignore their existence. Therefore, every autumn, in addition to quietly collecting the colorful colors of autumn, I will also look for the breath of autumn, approach the autumn fields where the seeds are constantly shaking, and get in close contact with the plants that bear fruit.
This waterfront is full of praise, but you can see peach trees, apricot trees, begonia, hawthorn trees, persimmon trees and jujube trees. I don't like this. Only a few trees are planted per tree, and a river slope becomes a miscellaneous forest. It is best to plant only willows, that is, a willow forest; It is better to plant only poplars, that is, a piece of Yang Shulin; It is better to plant only peach trees. This is the Peach Blossom Dam. It is better to plant only apricot trees, which are the fog of apricot flowers; It is best to plant only begonia, which is a kind of "Kawabata Yasunari" ... Now, this is not a big space, it is a world of deciduous trees with different names; In addition, if you drop your eyelids casually, you will see many herbs with different names, pretentious and dying under deciduous trees.
In autumn, the fruits that bear fruit in summer in this forest are all ripe, and those that bear fruit in the back are still half-baked, so there will be semi-green and semi-red yin and yang fruits, and some even green. I like those fleshy fruits, which are sweet and sweet. They give off a strong smell, which makes autumn rich and real. Although the fruit of peach tree is very small, the sweetness after maturity is many times better than that of grafted peach. Looking at the soft fruit with smooth surface, in fact, there are already insects living inside. They leave a small round hole on the surface of the ripe peach, and the pulp slowly overflows from that hole and hangs on the surface of the fruit, which affects the external beauty of the fruit. If several fruits stick together tightly and hold a branch forever, no one will hate tearing them apart. With the erosion of autumn wind, the hidden color of these fruits will be enriched day by day, and a small piece of symbolic crimson will be hung, until after the late autumn, the fruits will turn black and become a pile of vague shadows, sleeping there as conspicuously as bones.
One summer, I found several begonias. More precisely, these are several trees that were once regarded as cherry blossoms. One spring, it was full of flowers, and I took a look at it without thinking, only to find that the cherry blossoms we always thought were actually begonia. One day at noon, I went to observe its heart-shaped leaves. I was surprised to find that there were still some fruits on the begonia tree. The green round fruits were sleeping in the dense leaves in the dark without any dust. However, when I went to see it again a few days later, all the fruits were gone, leaving me standing there depressed for a long time. Isn't it sad that several begonia fruits died before autumn? Or, in autumn, all other plants bear fruit, and only its tree is empty, which is the most unhappy thing.
After autumn, nothing is more attractive than the orange color of persimmon. It hangs on the tree like a small lantern, and whether it is the sweetness of the fruit or the bright color, it makes people drool. As a result, people pick the ones that grow in low-lying areas and eat them, while those that knot in high places, like small torches, proudly tempt people passing by under the high blue sky in autumn, ignoring those eager eyes. Only the charm of autumn wind can shake its firm determination? Because, sometimes I hear a bang, and when I turn my head, they have fallen apart and broken into a pile of bright and soft rotten fruit pulp. After that, with the passage of time, these pulp will melt into the soil and disappear.
And those little hawthorn trees haven't grown for years. Presumably this deciduous tree can only bear a few fruits all year round. There are several brown spots on the surface of the blue fruit, like freckles on some people's faces, which makes me wonder what happened to the girl of the former Soviet Union standing under the hawthorn tree under her beautiful big eyes. At that time, her skirt was flying and her long hair was fluttering. She just stood in the background of a big hawthorn tree and sang: "The song rippled gently on the water in the dusk, the factory sparkled in the distance in the dusk, the train was running fast, the windows were brightly lit ..." However, Jingqiu in Love with Hawthorn Tree had a white face, small eyes, a small nose and a small mouth, which was nothing like those hawthorn fruits and did not sing these Soviet songs. Therefore, her feelings are only as quiet as her own.
In front of a jujube tree, I was attracted by a few immature and hard small green dates. What season is it now? They are still green and refuse to change their clothes. I picked one and put it in my mouth. It is astringent and tasteless, so I know why people call youth green. It's just that these dates are really small, as small as soybeans. In such a deep autumn, even if the leaves of jujube trees are dropped, they will not be ripe, will they? In that way, when winter comes and snow comes and goes, those dates will fall to the ground and rot, and finally become a pile of soil. I think this is also the best place for a jujube to fall to the ground and then blend into the soil. How I wish all things and people in the world have a good home.
I can't remember how many times I have walked here. The autumn wind blew off all the fruits of deciduous trees and withered herbs everywhere. Soft thatch, crawling on the ground, bears seeds of different sizes. Tear off a spike of sage, put it in the palm of your hand, knead it slowly, blow off the epidermis, and leave a few black and bright seeds. If you look carefully, you will find that you can see your own shadow in their naughty flash. This is somewhat doubtful. Is there an elf hidden in every seed? It looks at you and talks to you, making you reluctant to throw it away at once. Then you will clench your fists all the way, and they will stick to your palm and go home with you. There are also small millstones on wild hemp, dark purple eggplant fruit, green Datura stramonium, oval pointed Xanthium sibiricum, and conical spiral fields, all of which appear in people's field of vision one after another, one after another, touching your subtle spiritual tentacles, making you feel emotional about it and making you look at them more involuntarily. At this time, the broom on the fox's tail has completely withered, and its seeds have been blown deep into the earth by an autumn wind of what color? Those crabgrass, those weeds, those barnyard grass ... they all have their own spirit and their own appearance, which makes us meet in a hurry and make us reluctant to part.
Is this my lost hound, chestnut horse and turtledove?