Chapter 237 three lush leaves

This garden, which has been abandoned for half a century and neglected, is unique and fascinating.Forty years ago, people who passed by this street would often stand and watch for a long time, but no one realized the secret hidden behind the dense green branches and leaves.A crooked, wobbling iron gate of ancient style with a padlock, set between two green mold-soaked columns, and crowned by a frieze coiled with inexplicable arabesques, more than one daydreamer once Let your eyes and thoughts pass through those cracks in the railings. In one corner there was a stone bench, two or three mossy statues, a few arbors attached to the wall, nails time had pulled out and rotting on the wall; The shallow grassland is full of chrysanthemum roots.Gardening is a thing of the past and nature is back.Weeds are overgrown, fighting for glory in a corner of the wasteland.The grand event of osmanthus and bamboo fragrance is too beautiful to behold here.In this garden, there is absolutely nothing that hinders the sacred will of all things to go to life. All things are thriving here, as if they are at home.The treetops lowered to the vines, the vines climbed the treetops, the vines climbed up, the branches drooped down, those who crawled on the ground found those that were open in the air, those that fluttered in the wind surrendered to those that crawled in the moss, the main trunk, the side branches, Leaves, fibers, flower clusters, tendrils, young shoots, thorns, all mingled, intertwined, entangled, and intertwined.Here, under the satisfied gaze of the Creator, in this three-hundred-foot-square garden, the plants in close and deep embraces have celebrated and fulfilled their mystical fraternity--the symbol of human fraternity.This garden is no longer a garden, but a vast hazel, that is to say, a kind of forest as deep, as lively as a city, as quivering as a bird's nest, as dark as a cathedral, as fragrant as a bouquet, as lonely as a tomb, as Where the crowd is so lively.

In the season of blooming, this large area of ​​bushes and grass is randomly looking for pleasure among the four walls behind the iron gate, secretly carrying out universal reproduction, and, almost like a beast that smells the scent of courtship all over the mountains and plains from the dawn, feels The heat in the late spring and March rushes forward and boils in the blood vessels, and suddenly startles, shakes the lush green hair on the head in the wind, and spreads it all over the wet ground, the eroded statues, the dilapidated steps in front of the building, and the desolate cornerstone. Flowers like stars, dew like pearls, abundance, beauty, life, joy, fragrance.At noon, thousands of white butterflies were hiding there, and clusters of living June Snow fluttered and fluttered in the green bushes. It was a scene that should only be seen in the sky.There, in those places where the eyes are refreshing and the green leaves are lightly shaded, there are countless innocent voices whispering their hearts, and the buzzing of birds is catching up on what was forgotten.In the evening a dreamlike mist rose from the garden.Cover it, cover it with a shroud woven of smoke, a kind of ethereal and quiet sadness, the intoxicating fragrance of golden horn and morning glory, like a mellow and refreshing poison, from the garden From every corner of the garden you can hear the last call of the wrens and wagtails before the leaves sink to sleep, and you can feel the undying friendship between the birds and the trees, the daytime, the wings of the birds to the leaves, and the night , the leaves guard the bird's wings.

After winter, the bushes became black and damp, the dead branches were scattered, and trembling in the wind, the house could be seen faintly.What people see is no longer the flowers on the branches and the dew on the flowers, but the winding silver ribbons left by the snakes on the layers of yellow leaves that are cold and thick like a carpet, but, in any case, From every aspect, in every season, regardless of spring, winter, summer and autumn, this small garden always has a sense of melancholy, resentment, loneliness, leisure, absence of people and presence of God, that rusty road. The old iron gate seems to be saying: "This garden is mine."

The paved streets of Paris circle in vain, the elegant and rich mansions of the Rue de Warren are only two steps away, the dome of the Invalides is near, the Chamber of Deputies is not far, the Rue Burgundy and St. The floppy cars on Dominique Street were flaunting their luxury in that area for nothing, and the yellow, brown, white, and red stagecoaches were also criss-crossing and galloping at the nearby crossroads. Mei Street is still deserted; the death of the old wealthy lords, a revolution in the past, the collapse, relocation, and oblivion of the ancient rich and famous families, and forty years of abandonment and widowhood are enough to rejuvenate this privileged area. It is full of ferns, mallows, bull's whip, yarrow, long thatch, and tall plants with broad leaves, gray-green color, and mottled. Lizards, dung beetles, and all kinds of scurrying insects make the indescribable The savage and savage splendor grows from the depths of the soil, and is displayed again in the four walls, making nature—the nature that hinders human beings' ingenuity and reproduces recklessly on ants or eagles anytime and anywhere, in the world. In a humble little garden in Paris, as in the virgin groves of the New World, it flaunts itself as boldly and solemnly.

Indeed nothing is small, as anyone who has looked deeply into nature knows this.Although philosophy is equally incapable of obtaining absolutely satisfactory answers in terms of determining the cause and specifying the effect, people who study things will inevitably fall into endless meditation because of the phenomenon that various forces in the natural world return from differentiation to unity.Everything is working as a whole. Algebra applies to the clouds, the sun to the rose, and no thinker can say that the scent of the hawthorn has nothing to do with the stars.Who can calculate the history of a molecule?How can we know that the planets are not formed by the fall of sand grains?And who can know the interlacing of the infinitely large and the infinitely small, the roar of primordial things in the abyss of actual things, the collapse of the universe in its formation?A maggot cannot be ignored, small is big, big is small, and in need, everything is in balance, a frightening phantom of the imagination.There is an incalculable connection between things. In this inexhaustible whole, from the sun to the aphids, no one can despise the other. They all depend on each other. Light will not bring the fragrance of the ground for no reason. The sky is clear, and the night disperses the celestial essence to the sleeping flowers.The claws of any flying bird are drawn by the infinite thread.The evolution of all things is complicated, such as wind, cloud, thunder and lightning, the baby swallow that breaks out of its shell, the birth of an earthworm and the coming of Socrates belong to the list of evolution.Microscopes come into play where telescopes fail.Which mirror has a wider field of view?You choose.A grain of mold is a cluster of beautiful flowers, and a pinch of nebula is an ant-gathering of countless celestial bodies.Things in the sphere of thought and in the sphere of matter are equally intricate, and more so than less.The various elements and causes intermingle, blend, intersect, and multiply each other, so that the material world and the spiritual world may achieve the same splendor.Phenomena always hide their own truth.In the vast and boundless movement of the universe, countless spatial activities intersect, involve everything in the mysterious and invisible looseness, and use everything, not even a single dream in any sleep. Sow a microbe here, scatter a planet there, sway, snake, turn a bit of light into power, turn a thought into matter, spread out and become one, disintegrate everything, and I, this point in geometry, alone; draw all things back to the atom-soul, and make all things shine in the heart of God; interweave all activities, from the highest to the lowest, in a thrilling mechanical darkness, The flight of insects is tied to the motion of the earth, and the movement of comets through the heavens is attached to—who knew?If only because of the regular identity—the circle of ciliates in a drop of water.The body of the mind.A gigantic set of cogwheels whose first drive is the fly and whose final wheel is the ecliptic.