Chapter 32 Sha Tin Mountain Residence

Outside the study is a balcony, and outside the balcony are the sea and the mountains, the sea is a bend of the blue, and the mountains are a series of green and lush.There are mountains beyond the mountains, and the farthest green light fades into a curl of green smoke. Suddenly it seems to exist, and if there is no more care, it is the vastness of the mainland.The sun and the moon are idle, and there is plenty of time and space.The endless green mountains and green waters, Ma Yuan Xiagui's long horizontal drape, let the wind blow, let the eagle fly, let the dim eyes stretch back and forth, and I look up at the sky and the earth, breathe the morning and evening, and it has been eighteen months up.Eighteen months, that is to say, Tao Ju in Chongjiu has bloomed twice, and Su Yue in Mid-Autumn Festival has bloomed twice.

The sea and the sky face each other, and there are mountains in the middle. Even on a clear autumn day, there is still a layer of sea air in the transparent blue light, which is suspicious and unreal, like opening a mysterious mirror. The person who looks into the mirror is not a person, but a god. .The sea and the mountains are closely related, and it is hard to tell whether the sea has invaded the mountains, or the mountains have captured the seawater. The sea has surrounded the mountains into a corner peninsula, and the mountains have surrounded the sea into a barren bay. .The mountains are like rings, and the vast South China Sea cannot be trapped. After all, there is a gap in the northeast. Let the mast go out, and the sails come in.On the most sunny afternoon, at the foot of Pat Sin Leng, a white ferry sails leisurely towards Tai Po in the face of the beautiful setting sun. The entire Tolo Harbor is covered with thousands of hectares of blue, just to contrast the dazzling whiteness.On windy days, the sea blows into thousands of acres of blue fields, and countless lilies bloom one after another.Late at night, all the dark shadows of the mountains fell asleep, far and near, scattered lights all fell asleep, leaving only waves of undulating waves, eternal snoring, and the shocking rhythm that shook my whim.Sometimes more than a dozen fishing fires stand out on the dark sea surface, forming an arc, making the fishing nets smaller and smaller, forming a cluster of golden lotus.

The sea surrounds the mountains, and the mountains surround me.Shatian mountain dwelling, the peaks and turns, my day and night, sunrise and sunset, moon and moon, all spent in it, I became a mountain man.I asked Yu why he lived on Bishan, but he smiled and didn't answer. The mountain has already answered for me.In fact, Yama didn't answer, it was Toriyama who answered, and it was Matsukaze who answered the insect.Shan is an eminent monk who hides deep Zen, and he doesn't speak easily.People are leaning on the railing upstairs, sitting in the mountains on all sides, like eighteen arhats stacked on top of each other, never tired of looking at each other.In the morning, I climbed up the Buddha's head to watch the sunrise. In the evening, I walked all the way back from the Liberal Arts Department of the United College. My home was waiting for me on the mountainside. The terrain was lower than the Buddha's shoulder, but higher than the Buddha's belly.At this time, Shan didn't say anything, but the noisy birds leaked his happy mood.When the birds settled down and the shadows of the mountains were at a loss, the sounds of the sky would sink, intermittently, before the singers in the trees stopped, and the chants in the grass reappeared.As for the small valley below the col, its shape and status are equivalent to the navel of the Buddha, and there is something interesting in the deep depression.Shan Shan is a village girl who loves music. She likes to learn onomatopoeia the most, but unfortunately she is too shy and her skills are not very good.Whether it's birds singing and dogs barking, or a train passing by with flute at the mouth of the valley, she has to learn to bark, half a beat behind, to respond to the end of the person.

Looking out from my upstairs, Ma'an Mountain is steep and steep, screened in the east, making Chao Tun's arrival late.The deer mountain approached majesticly, and its burly shoulders covered half of the western sky, prompting the dusk to come half an hour earlier, and the setting sun fell into his monk's sleeves when he was distracted.A furnace of sunset glow, brass burnt into red gold and then turned into purple ash and green smoke, a magnificent myth of the grandeur, the funeral of the sun.Sitting on the balcony, watching the evening scene change into night, it seems to be very slow, but also seems to be very quick, only to feel that the sun is warming your cheeks, and the remaining tree is suddenly transformed into a close-up, and the black shadow that is coveting has reached your elbow and armpit. Night, morning Coming from behind you.That process is a wonderful way of blinding the eyes, which cannot be watched by the eyelashes.When the night falls, the darkness has become a foregone conclusion, and the surrounding mountain shadows are heavy and gloomy, making people awe-inspiring and frightening.Especially the deer mountain in Xiping, during the day, is still like a Buddha and a monk, amiable and amiable, but now it puts away its dharma form, squatting huge, black and furry like a monster waiting for people in secret, there is a hidden uneasiness.

The majestic momentum of Qianshan is overwhelming, who dares to shake it?But together with the cloud and smoke, the solemn state of the mountain changed.On days when the fog comes, the mountains become islands, floating and sinking in the waves of white smoke.Baxianling really turned into the Eight Immortals crossing the sea, sometimes on the waves, sometimes in the diffuse clouds.One morning, when I looked up, the Eight Immortals, Ma'an, and all the peaks, large and small, were gone. Occasionally, the clouds would part, and the deer mountain in front seemed to be peeking out from the gap in the sky, and the vehicles going to Tai Po appeared in midair.My balcony is detached from everything, with no place to descend, to come and go freely on the raging white water.The sound of chickens and dogs in the valley came from under the clouds, from the distant world.I walked to the United College at a higher place to attend classes. The ground was covered with white clouds, and the clothes of teachers and students fluttered, and they all became gods.I went up to the podium and said, the smoke and clouds peeped out the window to listen.

On a windy day, all the hazy clouds and mist are wiped away, and the water and mountains are beautiful, and every detail is seen in the mirror.It turns out that at the foot of the Baxian Ridge on the opposite bank, there are so many mountain villages and wild shops, and people from the Water Margin.The weather on the peninsula changes day by day, the wind comes suddenly, and drives straight in from the sea, and the valley under the feet suddenly becomes a bellows, roaring and churning endlessly.Ravaging Podocarpus pines and reeds, overturning sea water, spitting white waves, the wind is a group of transparent beasts, rushing in and roaring away.

The waves and wind, even if they shake the sky and the earth, are just adding desolation and wildness to the boundless stillness.The most exciting and fascinating thing is the artificial noise.From early morning to midnight, there are more than 40 shifts a day between the mountains and the sea. Passenger cars, freight cars, and pig cars of the Kowloon-Canton Railway come knocking on the rails and leaving with whistles.With black smoky hair and a slender body with thirteen carriages, these veteran vehicles of the industrial age still have the charming atmosphere of the old world, which cannot be compared with the Concorde supersonic aircraft.The railroad track below the mountain stretches north and stretches my heartstrings.My central nervous system, more than forty times a day, is beaten by thousands of iron wheels going south and north in turn, reminding me with the heroic rhythm of steel sparks that what is hidden at the bottom of the valley is not a paradise in a cave, and I live on a mountain. It's not Huanjing, even Wang Can can't help but go downstairs:

The face is pressing and the eyebrows are green hills