Chapter 8 Ⅲ-1

III 1 Come on, spring, lover of the earth's pride, you stir the forest ups and downs, eager to talk! Come on, turbulent gust, please blow to the place where the flowers are blooming and the new leaves are dancing. You are unstoppable, like the rebellious sunshine, breaking through the surveillance of the night, piercing the dark dullness of the lake, penetrating the underground prison, you declare that freedom belongs to the bound seeds. Like lightning's laughter, like a storm's cry, rush into the tumultuous city, free choked words and mindless toil; you reinforce our retreating battles, and conquer death!

2 Year after year in March, when the mustard flowers are in full bloom, I have gazed at this picture countless times - the flowing water in a vein, the gray sandy beach in the distance, and the friendship that carries the field, meandering The rugged trail along the river meanders into the heart of the village. I once wanted to use rhythm to describe Feng'er's leisurely ditty, and use rhythm to reproduce the rhythm of boats rowing wooden oars. I have secretly marveled at the simplicity of the great world that opened before my eyes; it filled my heart with love and kind comfort at the moment of my encounter with this eternal stranger.

3 The ferry boat rowed back and forth between two villages facing each other across the river. The river is neither wide nor deep--merely a break in the road, which adds to the many subtle waves of everyday life, through which the melody flows merrily like the intermissions of words in a song. When the edifice of wealth rose high and collapsed into ruins, the two villages talked to each other across the babbling river; the ferryboat rowed back and forth between them, generation after generation, from the moment of sowing to the time of harvest. 5 In the baby's world, the woods shook their leaves to him, whispered poetry in an ancient language long before the light of reason shone; and the moon, the lonely child of the night, pretended to be the same age as the baby .

In the old man's world, flowers routinely smile because of those fabricated myths; broken dolls reveal the truth that they are made of mud. 7 Great land, how often do I feel my body yearn to flutter over you, to share my bliss with every green leaf that bears a pennant and answers the call of the blue sky! I feel that I belonged to you centuries before I was born; that's why in the autumn days, when the sun shines brightly on the fragrant ears of rice, I seem to remember that my soul is everywhere. In the past, I seemed to hear the sound of friends playing, coming from the distant past covered by layers of veils.

In the evening, when the cows were returning to their pens, dusting the lawn paths, and the moon hung high in the sky where the smoke from the cottages was rising, one of the first mornings of my existence Saddened by an indescribable farewell. 9 When the morning light hangs on the forehead of the rainy night like a bunch of scattered bangs, the dark clouds no longer gather. A little girl stands at the window, as still as a rainbow appearing at the door of a thunderstorm after it has vented. She was my neighbor, and she came down to the world like a series of rebellious laughter of the gods; her mother angrily called her hopeless, and her father smiled and said she was a crazy child.

She is like a waterfall jumping over boulders to escape, like the twigs of bamboo rustling in the restless wind. She stood by the window, staring intently at the sky. Her sister came up and said, "Mom is calling you." She shook her head. Her little brother came with a toy boat and tried to take her away to play with her, but her hand jerked away from him; but he kept pestering him, and she hit him on the back. The first great sound was the sound of wind and water at the beginning of Genesis. The ancient call of Nature--the silent call to life not yet born--has reached the child's heart, and has led her soul beyond the barriers of our time alone; and there she stands. , the whole body and mind are immersed in eternity.

10 A kingfisher sat motionless on the head of an empty boat, and a buffalo lay comfortably in the shallow water by the river's edge, its eyes half-closed, savoring the cool mud. Cows munched on the tender grass on the embankment, followed by a flock of saliks hopping to catch moths; they were not frightened by the barking of the vicious village dog. I sit in a grove of tamarind trees where the noise of life that cannot speak has gathered: the lowing of a cow, the chirping of a bird, the screeching of an eagle overhead, the chirping of a cricket, and a fish The son is playing in the river and ding-dong.

I peer into this primordial nursery of life, where Mother Earth is thrilled by the closeness of these primordial beings around her bosom.