Chapter 13 flower notes

I like those beautiful and thick flowers, like lilies, lotus, and kapok, but I also like those beautiful and worrying flowers, especially those that bloom in spring. The petals are thin and thin, and they will disappear soon. flowers like peach, apricot, plum, pansy or cosmos. The color and lines of flowers are always relatively "substantial", but the fragrance of flowers is an existence between "virtual" and "substantial".There is a kind of flower, like evening primrose, which has a wild and savage fragrance. It is indeed the fragrance method of "the fragrance of flowers wants to break the Zen". Even more beautiful, the reflection of a narcissus is like a piece of alum, which can make a pool of water clean and clear.

The fragrance of gardenias and woody strains is always released when the sun is warm and the wind is warm, so it is particularly worrying, because I don’t know when they will disappear. The flowers on the tree are novels. They climb on the cross structure with branches and stems, and look down on its gorgeousness. Branches are low", there are many layers and angles in it, and there are endless stories. Grass flowers are poetry, because they are short, they seem to have just jumped up from the soil, a kind of essence, bright, cohesive and concentrated beauty. Prose is like climbing vine flowers, like bougainvillea, chami, wisteria, radish, and even morning glory, loofah flower, and lentil flower.The climbing vines seem to be careless, but when I look back after the whole season is over, none of the articles is without structure—whether it is blooming between the hedges, spilled on the flower stand, or flowing down the melon shed or those that drip on the slope without regret, or even climb up the old tree mischievously, as if to revive the dead wood... They all have their own styles. Really, the loofah flower has its own grammar, Morning glory has its own rhetoric.

If there is any flower that can be called a stage play, it is probably the epiphyllum.It is a thorough art of time, it is born and dies between the opening and closing of silk curtains, it is "moving" every second, and it strictly abides by the "three unities" of classical drama—" "One moment", "one place", "one event", what moved me was not the petals that turned white by chance overnight, nor the stamens that became fragrant by chance, but the almost audible thud The process of dismantling. If literary criticism uses flowers as a metaphor, it may be like a cactus flower, which is tall and scary, with many thorns and few flowers, but the big thorns rise from the ground like a thunder-of course, a good cactus flower is still beautiful as hell .

The color of aquatic flowers is inherently good, it is a very fresh splash ink painting, aquatic flowers always surprise people, as if they are too good to be unreasonable.It is good enough to have flowers on the ground, and it is good enough to have flowers in the valley, but it is unbelievable that there are flowers in the water, but it is there like an evil.Whether the aquatic flower is a lotus, water lily, narcissus, calla lily that is so white that you can't know what to do, or a kind of purple that swells into a string and seems to be called a baggy lily, They all have a strange characteristic: No matter how many miles they bloom, each flower seems to be lonely and lonely, that kind of Lingling seems to be independent of time and space, and the aquatic flowers are probably a tie that belongs to gracefulness. The little words of Pai, when the orchestra touches the water, the flowers are formed by accident.

Not only aquatic flowers, but even aquatic plants like reeds, gladiolus, and reeds are so beautiful that it makes people worry. A book of poetry begins with a water lily with various water birds singing in chorus—I can’t think about it, it’s so clean The river, such clean water, such clean grass, such clean classical love—I can’t think about it anymore. Thinking about it makes people feel a kind of grief after being exiled as an old royal family. It seems like we are literally losing water—clean water—and the flowers in it. As soon as March came, some acacia trees that couldn't bear it all released all the soft yellow flower balls overnight with an uproar.After April, almost all the trees couldn't hold it anymore, and they simply bloomed together, breaking the whole year's practice!

I have always liked the acacia tree, not because of the name but because of the small delicate leaves that are full of trees. When I saw the leaves, I thought of the sentence "I don't know who cuts the thin leaves, the spring breeze in February is like scissors". The flowers of the acacia tree are also small, it seems that they dare not show it, but if you look at it from the whole ball, the whole tree, it is still very gorgeous and compelling. Chatting with my son, he suddenly said: "Everyone in our class is like a flower." "Which type is Xie Wanzhen?"

Xie Wanzhen was the most extraordinary girl in his opinion. "She is a lotus." "why?" "Because a summer is fresh and beautiful." "What about yourself?" "I am a rose," he explained after a pause, "because it smells sweet until I die." This kind of self-dialogue with fragrant flowers is simply Qu Yuan, it is really amazing! In spring, I always take my youngest daughter to see the dazzling rhododendrons. She is still young, and the cuckoo is almost a tree to her. She didn't pay much attention to looking at the flowers, but concentrated on looking for the small spindly buds, and when she found them, she yelled:

"Look, Flower Baby!" She seems to only agree with those "flower babies", and she tirelessly pours those unsealed beauties into her cheers one by one along the road! When traveling in the United States, what I like most is not Hawaii, not Florida, not the theater, not the highway or Disneyland, but the wild flowers in the wasteland.In Arizona, driving for a few hours on the high road, the roadside is full of wild flowers, and the yellow and charming roads open to the end of the world, but it makes people suspect that there is a kind of crop called "wild flowers", bison And the Indians seem to appear at any time.

What a luxurious way to use the land, do not build apartments, do not open paddy fields, and only leave it to wild flowers to develop for thousands of miles. In Chicago, my friend drove me to his house, he watched the road, and I watched the things on the road. "What kind of flower is that?" "have no idea." "What about that bird?" "I don't know, there are many near our house." He hurriedly told me how one winter he was trapped by heavy snow, unable to go home, and stayed in a hotel for a few days outside, and how the Sears tower was a little taller than the existing skyscrapers in New York.

However, I stubbornly want to know the little blue-purple flowers with soft petals stretching out like silk gauze. I like this kind of unrefined beauty more and more. All the way east, I always saw that kind of face. Finally, in Boston, I knew its name, "Blue Sailor", Blue Sailor. Like a young boy, once he is surprised by a pair of bright eyes, he can't help but do everything possible to know her name-so what if he knows it, but it's still the same, just sitting alone at dusk, letting countless thoughts find her It's nothing more than a twig that can be traced. Know that a kind of flower you love blooms safely under the blue sky of a foreign country year after year. Even though you don't meet each other, you still have the joy of sharing the world.

There is an alias called Pa Jing, which makes me feel that putting one on the table has a rich and rich fragrance that bursts out of the pages. The middle school is in the south, the campus is big, and each student has a piece of land to plant. We planted long cowpea that year. For some reason, a small wild chrysanthemum grew in the small field—maybe its predecessor was in the same field as the cowpea, and they were still mixed together when the seeds were harvested, so they were sown together inadvertently.Maybe it's the occasional wind this spring that brings an occasional touch of color. Later, the teacher asked us to pull out weeds, and I pulled them out. "Why didn't you pull that grass?" "It's not grass," I protested, "it's a small wild chrysanthemum." "Pull it up, pull it up." He actually pulled it out with his hands. "You don't know what grass is—it's grass if you want to plant it." Do I want to grow cowpeas?No, I don't want to grow cowpeas, what I want to grow is life. Many years have passed, and I still remember the little wild chrysanthemum that was deprived of the right to live. That flower was planted in the vegetable garden, or it was really unfortunate. There is a kind of flower called firecracker flower, and I really like that name—because it has color, it has a sound, and it's almost a progressive verb. That kind of flower is more common in Hong Kong, and it belongs to the climbing vine category. The flowers are not big, and they are as bright and yellow as a thousand feet of gold. The crackling momentum ignites the joyful color. Another kind of flower has also got a good flower name, called Yizhanghong, which is very classic and vigorous. In fact, the flower is quite ordinary, but because of such a good name, it looks like a red fountain rising up to the sky, spraying from bottom to top, spraying up to a length of ten feet, spraying up to a thousand feet, spraying up to the limit of one's imagination . Some flowers only appear in Chinese language, but they are not considered flowers in textbooks, like snowflakes and waves. All the flowers bloom on their backs, but the snowflakes bloom on their heads. All the flowers conceive in the depths of the soil, but the snowflakes conceive in the high places of the sky.Snowflakes use clouds as mud and wind as branches. They bloom only once, drifting through thousands of miles of cold, and will only fall on the warm collar of a passerby, or on the dimly lit window paper of a spectator. In the order, the beauty is so momentary, and then it returns to half a drop of water, and returns to the earth. The waves only bloom in the sea. The sea is not a pond, and it cannot grow large purple, white, and pink flowers. God planted the waves in the sea, and the sea is full of waves every second. What kind of flower can bloom bigger and more vigorously than the waves, unwinding and fading like that, life and death like that-but there are four seasons that don't adjust, blooming until the end of time. When you stand by the sea, the waves are like Indian women's rings ringing around your ankles, blooming brilliantly. Someone is playing surfing, and it seems that the whole person is blooming in the heart of the flower, standing in the flower stamen with thousands of threads. Talking about waves as flowers, only Chinese can speak it so well! I hate all paper flowers, ribbon flowers and plastic flowers. I always feel that there is a kind of excess and blasphemy in them. There is also a kind of "dried flower", dehydrated, pale yellow and old, it is a kind of mummy in the flower, it will never wither, but it will be placed on the desk all the year round, making people feel tired.Somehow, because it never dies, it makes you feel as if it has never lived brightly and vigorously. I want only to love the flower, the colour, the breath, the form which I will not be able to hold tomorrow - since it will be gone tomorrow, I must love it today with a love I cannot afford.I want to watch it carefully. Its beauty in every moment is actually its only beauty. The next moment, whether it opens or closes, it is another flower. My insistence on flowers is an exception when I meet glass flowers; there is a room full of glass flowers in Harvard's showroom, so delicate and transparent-maybe artificial flowers have a kind of mystery that almost reveals the secret when they are well made. Maybe what I love is not the glass flower, but the art that has become extinct. Those glasses were made by a father and son, and they were lost after they died-of course, flowers that are so well made cannot be handed down. I really don't know if I'm in love with the crystal clear and illusory flower that is so well made, or the lonely story behind the flower. I love flowers, maybe not for the flowers themselves, but for the surprise of seeing each other suddenly. Once, when I went to the beach, I was prepared to see the sea. There was a small rocky promontory by the sea. We climbed up, hoping to see farther. Unexpectedly, a lily flower appeared from the crevice of the rock. of. The whole thing is almost a little unreasonable. Of course, when you come to the beach, you want to watch the sea pick up shells. No one wants to see flowers, but when you encounter flowers by accident, you can't bear not to look at them. I don't have a work schedule, and I don't care about other people's travel schedules—that flower's loveliness lies in its unreasonableness. I have never been happy at a flower show, and seeing life standing in such orderly rows of bottles and jars, with reasonable price tags, makes me feel depressed. I heard that there is a kind of canned flower that will definitely bloom a few days after opening the can. I have not seen that kind of flower before, and I am already tired of it. Shouldn't life be full of mysterious unknowns?Isn't there great success and great failure, great sorrow and great joy, the tension of agitation?Civilization takes away the flower grower's right to make mistakes, and makes his success seem as tasteless as dry wax. The flower I dream of is the kind of gardenia that can wake you up loudly in the spring morning, or the rape flower that can make people overwhelmed when walking through the fields, or the Ching Ming Festival that makes passers-by in the rain dream. The apricot blossoms that are desperate, the ones that cannot be accepted by all kinds of Japanese ikebana, the ones that cannot be priced in the market, the unsophisticated flowers that refuse to submit to gardening magazines. Let the earth be an accident floating out of the mighty waters, let the hundred flowers be a whistling that rises from the reckless earth!