Chapter 21 summer quatrains

Spring is like a huge parallel essay, while summer is like a quatrain. It's been a long time, and I haven't cared about the sound of cicadas.My ears are busy listening to the sound of cars, the beating sound of variety shows, the impatient voice of the ticket sales lady, and the low, hoarse secret voice of my friends... I should find a clear and clean river to wash my ears, Because I can't hear the cicadas. So, I didn't know when Xia Tian crossed the threshold and came in. Until that day when I was in a literary history class, I was suddenly besieged on all sides, like gold and drums, and all the cicadas screamed at the same time, which shocked me.My gesture of raising the pen was stranded in mid-air, and I couldn't comment on the invisible and intangible volume of sound in front of me!What a surprise!It sucked my whole mind, like iron sand rushing towards a magnet.But when I held my breath and listened intently, suddenly, they all stopped talking at the same time. This cicada scared me again!Like a rope, the sound of cicadas tied my heart tightly, and suddenly it was untied without warning, so my heart unprepared and unprepared, like leaping to the sky accidentally fell to the beach!

When did Xia Tian cross the threshold? I don’t even know these days! It is a window with leaves, the small round and flat leaves are like the flowers and birds on the curtain, of course they are more lively.As soon as the wind blows over, they sway with a "swipe", and I seem to hear giggling laughter, much like a group of little urchins playing on a swing!The wind is the worker behind the scenes, responsible for pushing them into the sky, while the cicadas are the cheerleaders, making noise on the branches.There is no referee. I can't help but think of my childhood, my little childhood.Because these happy notes are too like a tape, let me pick up the voices of my childhood one by one.

The first thing I picked up was the sound of cicadas. At that time, the most exciting thing was not listening to cicadas but catching them.Children always like to put all the things that make him curious one by one in the palm of their hands to enjoy, and I am no exception.When I was in elementary school, classes were divided into morning and afternoon classes. This is an advantage only for children in the first and second grades. It can be seen that I was still young at that time.There are four roads to go to school, one of which is along the river, with tall trees and thick shade on the bank, often covering half of the sky.Although there are pastoral farmhouses nearby, they are inaccessible. For us, it is really far away and deep, which makes people feel scary.However, there are always several times a week, passing through there, especially in summer.When it was the turn of the afternoon shift, we would always walk that road together with friends and companions, for no other purpose, just to catch cicadas.

Can you imagine a group of primary school students wearing khaki shorts, yellow caps, or pleated suspenders, a group of boys and girls obediently sticking the elastic band of the "bowl hat" to the edge of the face, and the schoolbags are placed on the side of the road, and they are not afraid of falling When I went to the river, I was not afraid of snagging my clothes, let alone bleeding from the skin, so I went up and down to the tree's arms with such fierce force? Is it just because there are cicadas in the book?The sound of cicadas is an attacking wave, accidentally falling into the heart lake of a child, so thousands of ripples like ten thousand ropes are thrown out from the center of the lake to arrest the wave. "Caught it! Got it!" someone shouted from the tree.Someone below quickly opened the matchbox and shut the cicada in.I didn't dare to take another look, for fear that it would fly away.That kind of tension is like in the Arabian Nights, after the fisherman tricked the troll into the ancient altar, he quickly sealed the spell and dared not touch it again.However, the veil-like thin wings have left a season of twinkling in the children's two suns.

In the classroom, everyone showed off the small animals in the pencil box - cicadas, beetles, and scarabs.Some trade cicadas for cows, and some trade beetles for cicadas.Everyone exchanged and gave each other gifts, and some begged for a few leaves to feed the little ones in his pencil case or matchbox.At that time, opening a pencil case was as careful as opening a safe. When my heart was itchy, I only dared to look at a small crack with one eye to take a few glances.During class, the teacher was talking in front of us. We stared at the front, but our hands were playing with the "cornucopia" in the drawer. The more I listened, the more excited I became, so I couldn't help opening a crack, putting my finger in and pressing the beetle to make it quieter, or touching the cicada with its wings stretched out, and pulling the long horns of the beetle to see if it was right. How long is another section?However, occasionally, if he is not careful, he will be bitten by a beetle. He probably doesn't like the long, flat pencil case that is full of small holes!

All summer we happily forced the cicadas to move from the branches to the pencil case, but the pencil case never became a music box, and the cicadas still sang in the tall trees by the river.Throughout the summer, the sound of the cicadas has not lost the alto or bass, and it is still a perfect harmony. You can catch the cicada, but you can't catch the sound of the cicada. Summer is the season of sound, with rain, thunder, frogs, birdsong, and cicadas singing.The sound of cicadas is enough to represent summer, so summer is like a quatrain. The quatrains should be recited, or a few lining characters should be added to sing.The cicadas are a chorus of nature; with beautiful timbre and clear rhythm, they recite a quatrain. This quatrain is neither in the anthology of Tang poetry nor in the anthology of Song poetry, nor Wang Wei nor Li Bai. It is the cicada's response to the seasons. Feeling is a lyric poem written by them because they have the same emotion for Zhongxia.The poems have their own sentiments of life, a bit close to the simplicity of natural poetry, but also a bit open-minded and elegant. More often, especially when they invariably stop their voices, I feel that there seem to be many heroic and tragic stories in their hearts. To speak.Perhaps, it is a lyrical frontier poem.

Listening to cicadas in the morning, think of their nobility.Cicadas should be hermits among the winged tribe!Standing high in the treetops, eating the wind and drinking the dew, not eating the fireworks of the world.The sound of the cicadas was particularly light and easy in the hazy morning light, seeming to be near or far away, or present or absent.After a period of cicada singing, my mind also becomes transparent and clear, and I have a realization of "where does the dust come from".The cicada is also Zen. There are also cicadas in the afternoon, but they are a bit noisy.Like a group of troubadours, meeting unexpectedly under the shade of a tree, resting their feet idly.They chatted and inquired, greeted the seasons, but no one wanted to write poetry, so the sound was bursting, lacking rhythm and rhyme.They also exchange directions of wandering, but they are not enthusiastic, because "wandering" actually has no direction.

I like to walk while listening to the cicadas, at dusk.Walking into the world of cicadas is like enjoying a music concert, if you know how to listen.Sometimes we also complain that the world is getting uglier and the noise of modern civilization is too much; in fact, in a pool of muddy currents, is there not a pool of clear springs?In the sound map intertwined with machine sounds, there are also so-called "sounds of nature".We are just too busy, so busy that we pass by beautiful things without knowing it.He is also too focused on himself, and the lens of life only captures close-ups of his own emotions, and everything else is a blurred background.If we could just step back and look around, maybe we'd notice that the whole pattern has changed.What has changed is not the pattern itself, but our vision.So, occasionally slow down and let our eyes browse the world as much as possible, and we suddenly realize that the world is still dressing up itself all the time.And what could be more refreshing than walking while listening to cicadas?Listen to the talk of relatives and friends, this is our common experience.It is not difficult for us to listen to the voice of all things, is it?

Listening is also art.The expanse of nature four best sound equipment.Imagine that groups of male cicadas are sitting on different treetops with their wings folded, like a symphony orchestra standing on a stage.As long as a cicada makes a sound, the sound will come out of the cage one after another.Each of them is dedicated to you with the most beautiful timbre, every word is true, and every sentence comes from Dantian.They have a distinct sense of rhythm, and different rhythms express different moods.They sometimes sing in chorus, sometimes in unison, and also sing solo, including harmony, with distinct high and low.They don't need conductors or sheet music, they're born singers.The singing is like flowing clouds and flowing water, which makes people relieve their worries and swim in it.It's like surging waves and stormy waves, beating the emotions that have settled in your heart. When you see them in an instant, you will feel that the sound of cicadas snatches away the sorrow you hold tightly in your hands like a raging wave washing sand.The rush of the cicadas stopped abruptly at the highest note, more like a beautiful article was suddenly torn apart, and the clang words scattered all over the ground were like the sound of gold and stones, and then the loneliness became a short and broken paragraph. This article only leaves people with some melancholy and some sentimentality.Isn't it the song of life?The sound of cicadas.

And every year, the sound of cicadas remains the same, still like a quatrain, flat and flat. (From "Selected Essays on Taiwan Art", Baihua Literature and Art Publishing House, 1990 edition)