Cicadas, which occupy the commanding heights of the season among the willow branches with infinite scenery, sing the songs of moxibustion people loudly and loudly, and naturally become the spokesperson of this restless season. Listen, those people gathered in the mountains, singing and drinking with one voice, responding with 10 thousand voices and chanting in groups. It's really a heat wave rolling and cicadas surging.
Speaking of cicadas, it is a general term. Actually, there are many kinds of cicadas. Just in summer, when the wheat is ripe, there is a cicada with a small body and a sharp voice. In the local dialect, it is called "Mai Burning Money", which probably describes that the song it sings is like blowing a whistle, but its body is black but not slippery, like an ancient cash cow. In a few days, when the rainy season comes, there will be a kind of black-headed cicada, which has a big body, a big door and a loud voice. It is what we call a real cicada. Don't tell me, this cicada sings quite like the "black head" in the net lines of Beijing opera! Listen, sing with one voice, the mountain forest responds and pours thousands of miles; After the ambush, Cicada officially appeared as BLACKPINK. Cicada is slender, slightly dark green in color, and its cry changes from the straightness of black cicada to the high-pitched scale, thus becoming cadence. "Cicada-Cicada-"I really don't know what this old gentleman in Jianghu knows, which is worth showing off. After beginning of autumn, another cicada was called "Buma" by the older generation. Legend has it that a lazy daughter-in-law changed after her death. Because in the early years, on rainy days, there was no work in the fields, and every family hung hoes, and women began to rub hemp threads to collect soles. But there is a daughter-in-law who is lazy and idle all day. The host is afraid of jokes when he visits western families. Everyone said, "I'm not numb, I'm not numb!" " "I don't have hemp. How can I make shoes with twine? Later, it became the laughing stock of others. He died of shame and became a cicada after his death. He stood on a tree all day and said to himself, "No hemp, no hemp, no hemp, no hemp! "
When I was a child, I often ran to the Woods to catch cicada pupa. Cicada usually comes out of the ground at night, with big frightened eyes, looking for branches to climb around. As soon as they find the trunk, they will wave a pair of saw-like front legs and struggle to climb up. In this long climbing process, it takes a difficult and even painful transformation to turn pupae into cicadas. The cicada that has just shed is pale and boneless, as weak as a patient recovering from a serious illness. Lying in a tree, breathing quietly, waiting for dawn in the long night. Only when the sun shines can the weak body gradually become tough. However, before dawn, cicadas are the weakest and most vulnerable to attacks and injuries. A small mantis is enough to make this newborn life be greatly threatened, and it is always scary.
On summer evenings, I often come to the Woods at the head of the village with lanterns in my hand. The wind at night swept away the heat during the day, feeling a little cold and immersed in the ground. Standing in the forest, listening quietly, there was a faint rustle. It was a cicada pupa that had just emerged from a small mud pit underground and was trying to climb the tree. Turn on the flashlight, in the dazzling light, this stupid guy suddenly stopped moving, as if thinking that he would not be found if he didn't move, but he didn't want to easily fall into the plastic bag already prepared for him.
If it comes to Sunday, find a long bamboo pole, tie a wire to the top of the bamboo pole, then grab a handful of wheat and chew it in your mouth until only a small piece of gluten with the strongest viscosity remains, and then take it out of your mouth and wear it on the top of the wire. Bring a plastic bag, and the tools for catching cicadas will be complete. In a day, the dew is heavy in the morning, and cicadas are easy to catch. If you dry the cicada's water at noon, it will be difficult to catch it. Sticking cicadas requires some skills, first of all, we must visually observe the distance of the target, then we must look at the backlight or backlight, and more importantly, the wind direction. Sticking cicadas requires great patience. The pole will slowly approach the cicada from the branch at the selected position. At this time, the hand can't tremble. If cicadas hear the slightest sign of trouble, they will scream, take a piss and run away. The pole must wait until it is very close to the cicada to move forward slightly, and the gluten at the top of the pole will firmly stick to the cicada's thin wings. After a sudden flutter and struggle, I finally couldn't escape. At this time, there will be a male cicada singing a sad song or a female cicada fluttering in the plastic bag that has been prepared long ago.
Catching cicada pupa and sticking cicada is not only for a small meal, but also adds a lot of joy to childhood. Nowadays, I can't help but feel sad when I see the cicada pupae in large plastic pots sold on the street, because these cicada pupae can only satisfy people's appetite, but they can't make people taste the pleasure of catching cicada pupae in childhood summer nights.
Now that summer is coming, cicadas seem to sing less and less, probably singing in people's stomachs! The ancient poem goes: "cicadas in the forest are quieter, and Yingong Mountain is quieter." I can't imagine what summer would be like without cicadas. I really don't know if this is cicada's sorrow or human's sorrow!
Cicada has always been regarded as the embodiment of nobility because it eats wind and drinks dew and does not eat fireworks. In poetry and prose, it often has lofty metaphorical significance, perhaps because it can make songs in pain and echo on high places! Luo, one of the "four outstanding figures in the early Tang Dynasty", was sentenced to prison for the crime of Wu Zetian. When the depressed poet was in prison, he heard cicadas singing, which caused many feelings, so he had a poem "Political prisoners listen to cicadas" sung through the ages: "The cicadas are singing in the west, and the guests in the south are thinking deeply. I can't stand the shadow on my temple to break the heart of a white-haired prisoner. He struggled to fly in the dense fog, and the wind was strong and strong. Who knows if he is still singing? Who will listen to me? ? "Who can understand his noble innocence? Only by the cicada singing that doesn't eat human fireworks. Yu Shinan, a poet, once wrote a poem to express his ambition by singing cicadas: "Drinking and dew, smelling Shu Tong. It's not the autumn wind that makes you afraid to speak loudly. " Isn't this the ideal of being a man?
Zhu Ziqing's Spring
Looking forward to, looking forward to, the east wind is coming, and the pace of spring is approaching.
Everything looked like I had just woken up, and I opened my eyes with joy. The mountains moistened, the water rose and the sun blushed.
The grass crawled out of the soil, tender and green. In the garden and in the field, look, there are many such trees. Sit, lie down, roll twice, kick a few balls, run a few laps, grab a few laps. The wind is quiet and the grass is soft.
Peach trees, apricot trees and pear trees are all in full bloom, and you won't let me or I won't let you. Red is like fire, pink is like chardonnay and white is like snow. With the fragrance of flowers, I closed my eyes and the trees seemed to be covered with peaches, Xinger and pears. Hundreds of bees are buzzing under the flowers, and butterflies of different sizes are flying around. Wildflowers are everywhere: miscellaneous, named and unnamed, scattered among flowers, like eyes, like stars, still flashing.
"Blowing your face doesn't make you cold", yes, like a mother's hand touching you. The wind brought the smell of new ploughing, mixed with the smell of grass, and the fragrance of various flowers, all brewing in the slightly humid air. Birds nest in flowers and leaves. They are very happy. Calling friends proudly showed off his crisp voice and sang melodious songs, which set each other off in harmony with the light wind and flowing water. The piccolo of the shepherd boy on the cow's back rang all day at this time.
Rain is the most common and lasts for three or two days. Don't be upset. You see, like cow hair, like a flower needle, like a filament, densely woven diagonally, and there is a thin layer of smoke on the roof. The leaves are bright green, and the grass is green enough to stare at your eyes. At night, the lights turned on, and a little dim light set off a quiet and peaceful night. In the countryside, on the path, by the stone bridge, people are walking slowly with umbrellas; There are also farmers working in fields, wearing shrines and hats. Their thatched cottages are sparse and silent in the rain.
There are more kites in the sky and more children on the ground. Every family in urban and rural areas, old and young, came out one by one. Relax your muscles and bones, be full of energy, and do your job. "A year's plan lies in spring"; At the beginning, there is plenty of time and hope.
Spring is like a newborn doll. It's new from head to toe and still growing.
Spring is like a little girl, dressed up and walking with a smile.
Spring is like a strong young man with iron arms, waist and feet. He led us forward.
Who got LAM Raymond drunk?
Last night, an autumn rain wet my eyes, quietly watching people come and go, swimming in the forest of Hongfeng with red leaves and tireless heart. Past lives are for this life. I don't want to cross the Naihe Bridge or drink Meng Po soup. I turn it into a drop of dew, hang it between maple leaves, soak it, accompany it to be lonely and burn with it. Let the flame of a tree turn into a harp, and let my three thousand moss be the strings. In such a silent dawn, I will gently play a song for you. Red maple is the flame that beats in the dark, and green silk is the mark of past lives. You are a person you will never forget. Zheng's voice can only be understood by you, because I was not drunk last night. It was the brilliance of the trees that awakened my dream of sleeping for thousands of years. When I woke up, I still couldn't grasp the waiting love, and I couldn't see the sorrow at that moment.
In such a gorgeous background, if you don't come, this dazzling prosperity, this beating flame and this staring eyes can only leave emptiness and loneliness. Don't ask about the past life, don't ask about the afterlife, think too much, just indulge in the quiet dawn, smooth the vicissitudes of my life with your constant attention and tacit understanding, erase my sorrow in the dark night, let me feel the quiet beauty and exquisiteness of a maple leaf, the crystal and purity of a drop of dew, the tenderness and yearning of a breeze ... If you think too much, you will float in the maple forest in full swing, expecting your horseshoe to break the cold dawn.
How intoxicated and obsessed, in the frost forest in late autumn, are you flying or dwelling? Can you hear the pure zither sound in the distance, can you see the flames full of trees, and talk about its burning? I hold the tears lost in my last life and the dew that changed in this life to wash away the dust of your years and the vicissitudes of your previous life. Are you tired? Whenever, I will wait quietly in the frost forest at dawn. Here is your eternal post station, facing the mountains and flowing water, facing the thick earth and yellow sky, bearing in mind the beauty of life and meeting for thousands of years.
I don't know who is quietly singing: in the chaotic world, everything is prosperous in the background except you. This play is played with life, and it is rare to have this agreement. This love only means something to you and me. In the misty frost forest, if you don't remember, if I haven't been there, there is only the prosperity of smoke, like the dream of a butterfly, falling gently outside the world of mortals in the background. And I stubbornly sang classical feelings, caressed the guzheng, lingering with the autumn wind and fog, indulging in the maple leaves at dawn, but, just, the lovesick maple forest is more and more sparse than the maple forest.
Dawn, fog, heavy frost. The whole maple grove is as red as a fiddler, as red as a fiddler and as transparent as a fiddler. Drunk in past lives, looking for it, I just want to be the reddest maple leaf, light the fire of your life, and light up the road of Millennium reincarnation.