If it weren't for a pile of stones related to the Tang, Song, Yuan, Ming and Qing Dynasties, this mountain wouldn't be so famous.
If it were not for a clear and sweet stream, this stone would not become a Guangdong inkstone.
When this stone became a royal object and a desk treasure of poets such as Ouyang Xiu, Duanzhou's reputation spread all over the world faster than a gust of wind.
However, this mountain has a very unpleasant name: Michelle Mountain. There is a good stream in the mountains: Duan Xi.
Where the stream passes, it not only nourishes the stones, but also nourishes the flowers, trees and people in and outside the mountains. Sparrows are blooming, and even tits in the forest know that spring is coming. When wild persimmons are covered with branches, like rosy clouds scattered on the horizon, the autumn wind will run down the village and tell the villagers that autumn is here.
This village has a very common name: Dakeng. The population of the village may have been very small, but because of thousands of years of war, Duanzhou, as a refuge in the rear area of Guangzhou, has a growing population like weeds. Now there are more than 7,000 people in Dakeng, including Huang, Chen and Liang. The entrance to this ancient village is the stream that waded across the Duan Xi River. Along the way, the ancestral halls of the four major surnames came into my eyes one by one. There is a private school next to Chen's ancestral hall. The plaque at the door reads "Yanfeng Private School". At that time, the sound of books here was deafening. How many children in Dakeng Village have been admitted to the Jinshi Juren and bid farewell to the clean stream, which has become the pride of the whole village.
Leaving the private school and passing through a winding and inaccessible alley, a fish pond as big as several acres of land appeared. To the south of the pond, a modern new building; To the north of the pond, there are ancient houses with blue bricks and pot-shaped ancestral halls. The water in the pond is as clear as a mirror, trees and houses are reflected in the water, and the distant green hills contain beautiful flowers, which are poetic and charming. It turns out that this is where the Liu clan lives.
On a sunny morning, although it is a weekend, the crowds in the village are sparse. In the old village behind the village, there are few young people except a few elderly people who live alone. In the past days, there were many weeds in the alley, but I would lose the courage to walk alone in the hot sunshine. Guess, in a village of 7,000 people, more than two thirds of them may have gone out to work. Otherwise, if it is a big village, why are there so few people? If the village is compared to a forest, the old village is a dilapidated bird's nest. The locked door is closed not only in spring, but also in countless winters and stories.
A few years ago, as a native of Dakeng, you told me a story about a bird's nest. Did you finish your new nest today? Is the room full of your laughter?
Duan Xi makes a village stand out. You are one of the people admitted to a key university. Like your ancestors, you left the land where their ancestors sweated and became a shining star in the night sky.
Today, I revisited your village, and I became rational and deep. The hesitation and sadness of the past can no longer be seen in my eyes. When I arrived, I had an impulse to explore your village, except for the once unstoppable complex. This time, I went further. If I can find a slender stone road leading to the rotten mountain behind the village, I will even step on it without hesitation, and go up the mountain along the road where your ancestors collected money to dig inkstones. I can't expect to meet you in your village any more than I can expect the stream to flow backwards. Your old sayings and jokes are poison to my feelings. Although the toxin often recurs in the breezy night in Leng Yue, I still live without regrets for an encounter.
The clear stream, year after year, flows like a lingering song. Listen, the tourists in the distance suddenly burst into tears. I don't know when this unforgettable memory will end! Or one day, even if you don't know each other when you meet, how can you be embarrassed!
Farewell and wave gently with your village! The camera is heavy, and this early autumn has been fruitful. Because of you, it's a little cold today.
High to the ancient village, dream flow.
In the green season of Xinhe, I visited an ancient village called Dakeng with awe.
Some people say that the ancient villages in Zhaoqing are like so many stars in the sky. As long as you walk into any village, behind the new building, there must be an old house with blue tiles and brick walls.
The old house is not demolished, which is the outstanding place of Zhaoqing people. The inheritance of ancestors has been preserved, which not only inherits the hard work of several generations, but also retains the childhood dreams of children, so that the human history of the countryside is completely sealed.
Therefore, it is not unreasonable for me to describe my respect for the village with awe.
Zhaoqing's village is not my village, but a wanderer from other places, so abruptly and boldly visiting other people's villages. I hope those souls wandering in the village don't blame me for disturbing their dreams. It should be noted that every time I pass an old house and mansion, I will bend my hands to express my piety and awe, only for a lonely heart. The stream in the pit is clear, as if it flowed from an essay entitled "Dream is the Water of the Country". Of course, its source is continuous mountains, beautiful scenery, destined to be outstanding, and the women here are destined to be smart and virtuous, and the women among women are full of poetry and self-admiration.
The stream is singing a touching song. It has been flowing through the village for as long as its history. How many village elders, stepping on the stream, work at sunrise, go to the fields to farm at sunset, go up the mountain to collect firewood, and return under the watch of sunset; And how many women, Huan Yi flow, washed away lead China. Huang Jia, are there any girls who know Xiu Xiu very well? She went out from here, studied hard at a cold window, and ended up as talented as Zhuo Wenjun. She thinks that when you are unmarried, I will meet you, smile and get married. You should study for me, stay with me every night and watch the moon with few stars.
Dreams from ancient villages are lonely and sad. If you don't say it, you will feel sad.
This is Huang ancestral hall, which is very imposing, indicating that it is a very popular name. When a son marries a wife, he will go to the ancestral hall to hold a wedding banquet. This is the custom of Guangfu people, which is not only welcomed by relatives and neighbors, but also for the ancestors in the ancestral hall. There is no such custom as marrying a daughter. Daughters are from other families, and marriage is just spilled water. The old house at home has no inheritance right, but the responsibility of raising parents cannot be less.
A daughter should always keep a willing heart and pretend to be happy. Of course, there must be a lot of bags. It would be better if she could marry a rich man. As soon as the luxury car village stopped, there was light on her parents' faces. Therefore, everyone who studies high and studies low wants to marry a rich man, and he is a very obedient rich man. Stepping on the village road, the weather is beautiful.
What do the two old people think in the picture? I haven't talked to them, and I don't know their hearts. But from their figures, I read the loneliness of the years.
At that time, young people were chasing glitz, longing for wine, longing for green light and red light, longing for those who stayed in the village. Their hearts are full of vicissitudes and peace. In other words, there is not much time left, but they are so quiet that in their twilight years, they will maintain this state of mind all their lives, which is a supreme realm. They also had love, had a blooming yesterday, had memories of surfing by boat in Xijiang, and had youthful passion. Now, they only taste the rest of their lives in one book. All strangers passing by the door, please go your separate ways!
Caoshi road, wind and rain for several spring and autumn.
There is a dialectical relationship between grass and people. You come, it hides, you go, it lives.
How many footprints has this Gu Xiang traveled? The once noisy days are gone forever, just like the forgetfulness of a wanderer.
Everyone has a period of forgetting, true or false, intentionally or unintentionally, such as love that does not belong to eternity. As soon as I turn around, I become a stranger, never meeting each other in life, never meeting each other in death, never caring about or missing each other again.
Every time I go to an ancient village, I feel that I am not seeking novelty or enjoying the scenery, but a painful practice.
I'm not a psychologist, and I won't dig up the love history buried deep in the village.
I am an ascetic, I touch the soul, suffering or abandoning villages from ruins and desolation.
Sweating and shivering, I walked through every deep alley alone, facing the gloom and desolation that many people don't want to face.
It was not until these little creatures appeared under the banyan tree at the entrance of the village that I breathed a sigh of relief. I love life, sunshine and the potential torrent in my heart, which is an endless river of love and beauty.
Through repeated trips to ancient villages, I learned to understand the emptiness and emptiness of life. All prosperity is just a spring flower, and all love is just the fragrance that flowers once had. Whether you like it or not, the long road of people's growth must go on firmly, put down their inner burdens, move forward lightly, wait for the front, and wait for the cool breeze to blow gently.
In July, better late than never.
I became attached to painting when I was young, and then I studied under my disciple Professor Li. From then on, I fell asleep in the mountains and rivers, and ink painting became my life track.
A few years ago, I followed Professor Li in sketching in Gaoyao, Zhaoqing, and visited the Art Museum, Shangqing Bay, Riverside Village and Xiangang Village, but the teacher did not take me to his hometown, namely Kengwei Village, Baitu Town, Gaoyao City.
This little regret, like a fish escaping from the net, can only be found by itself by the lake where time has traveled. In order to end this regret, I walked into Kengwei Village in such a wandering July.
Oh, here I am, the hometown of great men!
Under such a high gate, the villagers casually basked in the valley on the road, and the early rice harvest began, which became a landscape in the countryside in July. The village road where the gate enters is covered with old trees and vigorous branches, as if it had come down from Mr. Li's painting.
There are two huge ponds at the entrance of the village, sparkling, but the wind is not fresh.
Coming to the alley at the entrance of the village, the scenery is getting better and better. In front of the new house, there are also poems and paintings, bamboo hedges and vegetables, melon sheds and bean racks, cars parked under the trees, and a leisurely afternoon.
This old well is located at the entrance to the village. The villagers are still using well water, washing clothes and peanuts, and some people are washing a handful of zinnia. On the tender leaves, the meaning of spring is still unfinished, and round flowers are covered with branches. The woman said that zinnia is herbal tea, which can be used to boil medicine soup and has the effect of relieving summer heat and detoxifying. This is the first time I heard it. A petite and lovely child, sitting by the well, quiet and gentle, must be a descendant of Lee.
There is an alley above the ancient well, and there are several flagpole stones in it. Judging from the text interpretation of the stone tablet, it is the inscription of the ancestors when they were officials at the bottom of the pit. Someone is very happy to introduce the glory of the village ancestors, and I am silent. No matter how many officials there are, they are just officials, but Mr. Li Xiongcai is a master of art, and he has a place in the history books.
Teacher Li Xiongcai passed away on 200 1, leaving a priceless artistic treasure. If a penniless tramp on the street gets one of them, he can live a good life. As the heir of this wealth, Mr. Li's son donated a lot of his father's works to China Art Museum, which shows that Mr. Li's family is well-off and his descendants are knowledgeable.
The old house where Mr. Li lived as a teenager is located at the height of the village. There is a yard in front of the door, and the sun shines in the yard, which looks warm and quiet. Before his death, Mr. Li must have sent a bouquet of incense to his parents and grandparents at home every year, then sat at the stone table in the yard, made a pot of green tea, and chatted with passing neighbors about Sang Ma. Teacher Li is simple, kind and approachable, and the blood of farmers flowing in his bones makes him close to the people. His life is so unusual. When I was young, I followed Gao Xue, the founder of Lingnan Painting School, and went to the Spring Sleeping Painting Academy. Has he ever spilled ink? He also studied in Japan to learn the unique artistic knowledge of the island country. Did Japanese cherry blossoms fall on his painting tools? He took teaching and educating people as his responsibility all his life, and he was full of peaches and plums. My teacher studied painting with Miss Li while studying in Guangzhou Academy of Fine Arts, and formed a deep friendship between teachers and students. Time is long, how many beautiful past events have gone away, such as running water, life is like a song, only a thousand years of white clouds are empty.
A woman said to me, do you want to go in and have a look? Go in and buy tickets. I declined. Maybe it's more interesting to leave some room for imagination.
As soon as I set foot on this land, I realized that this village is special and extraordinary. This village has nurtured Li Xiongcai, which is a treasure trove of feng shui.
I stayed at the door for a long time.
Looking at Mr. Li's works is like walking into his mind and realizing the magnificent rivers and mountains and the faint homesickness in his chest.
I have also copied Mr. Li's paintings, and I feel that his paintings are heavy and atmospheric, with delicate and simple emotions and picturesque, which is a valuable quality of a painter. Now, I also write on the Xuan paper of landscape painting. I use my own pen and ink language to talk about life, pin my dreams and express my respect for Teacher Li. Today's painting world is not so sacred, because the utilitarian wind has confused the banner on the altar. Just being myself and being lonely is my unchanging original intention.
Walking through the long village road, I came to the pond and found that the flowers that love sunshine are blooming brightly. This kind of flower is called noon flower, and it will be collected after noon. At noon, hard-working people are going home to avoid the scorching sun. The flowers at noon are the most beautiful at this time! Why do you think it is?
An old woman in my hometown restaurant invited me in for tea. Compared with the indifference in the city, the enthusiasm and friendliness of the villagers moved me. I have lunch there.
When the autumn wind blows, you may wish to come again next time, with a brush and a drawing board, to describe your hometown.
Bagua alley
Last year's National Day holiday, the high-speed was free, avoiding the peak traffic jam, and finally traveling on the fourth day, benefiting the country.
There is a long-hidden desire and a fragile feeling. When I walked into Richard, an ancient village in Gaoyao under the guidance of navigation, the Mid-Autumn Festival wind had been waiting for me under the banyan tree at the entrance of the village for a long time. For an instant, I am eager to walk around this curved Gu Xiang accompanied by the autumn wind.
So many wooden signs with the names of alleys, wells and banyan trees were nailed to the outer wall of an old house in the mouth of the ancient village: Shangrenli, Xingrenli, Chunheli, Rourongli, Juheli, Li Yuxiu, Sanxing Banyan and Zhoujiajing ... These words containing Confucianism are antique and their connotations are enough to make people think deeply for a long time. But is this in the wrong place? It's like Jesus being crucified. In addition to the brand, there are old houses and my distant feelings.
Richard Richard, a village planted in the land of western Guangdong, has been growing unconsciously for hundreds of years. For hundreds of years, how many people have become old after their youth, like a tree, whose new leaves turn into yellow leaves, and after falling in the autumn wind, new life comes out! There is no reincarnation in life, only rebirth. Everyone thought he was very important when he was alive, but in retrospect, he was just a yellow sand in history. Even though he worked hard as the ancestor of Richard, so far, there is only one well to let people know his glory, but how many people remember his name? How many people are willing to ask his name?
Master Jinshi is enshrined in the ancestral hall set up for him by later generations, and Richard has many ancestral halls. Entering from Sanxingrong is Suiyuan Lane, with a nice name. After the Suide well, it is the village center with dense ancestral halls.
Zutang is almost the most beautiful building in the village, with cauldrons on both sides of the roof, which is a typical Guangfu cultural building.
In the alley in autumn, the sun can only shine on half the wall of the house, which seems lonely and deserted. I crossed my hands and paid tribute to one of the ancestral halls. I saw the memorial tablets of ancestors neatly enshrined in the main hall, and the wind blew hay and rustled. One or two sparrows flew by, leaving a string of chirping sounds.
Will you come to the village where sparrows often haunt? Of course, tourists are not as diligent as sparrows, that's for sure. Even if there is a gossip platform in the high place in the village, it can be transshipped by the world, but there are not many tourists. This is not a bad thing for ancient villages. The precipitation of history needs peace. You can wander in the winding Gu Xiang and enjoy this time alone.
The world likes lively and flashy scenery, as quiet as a river flowing in the moonlight. How many people appreciate it?
Feeling tired, find a banyan tree to sit down and rest, next to the pond. The pool water is like a big blue scarf, which surrounds the village in the shape of gossip. There should be a suspension bridge near Xingrenli in ancient times, which is the only place to go in and out of the village. In the turbulent years, this is a vital checkpoint, but now it has been replaced by a small cement bridge. No matter how history evolves, it is impossible to forget the courage and unity of the village. Those blue brick houses left not only the echoes of the cries of peasant children.
Now the people of Richard are living well. They not only know how to apply for a brand of an ancient village, but also set up a card to charge. Maybe these tickets can not only feed a few people, but also manage the sanitary environment of the ancient village. They also built an exhibition hall for people to visit, including inkstones, rice jars, plates, clay pots, wind cabinets, stone mills, plows, gongs and drums and bronze washbasins. You can buy one or two permanent possessions if you are interested.
I had the idea of buying an inkstone. Maybe Jinshi still uses it, but think about it. What if Jinshi is unhappy? Let's leave the cultural relics in the village
Yanzhou dreams
This is a land of flowers, and history is a monument among flowers. After wiping your eyes, don't touch half a grain of dust.
The inkstone thrown by Lord Bao became this island. I have no doubt that it is as thick as a history book. Its bones are made of the hard texture of inkstone. After the moisture of Xijiang River, the sand covered with inkstone raised the creatures on the island and passed them down from generation to generation. Those who fly in the sky, walk on the ground and swim in the water, after completing their historical mission, all blend into the air of the island, become the body of flowers and cast the island.
Walking into the streets, rural buildings, riverbanks and swamps, ancestral temples and abandoned houses, I met this spirit everywhere. I put my hands together and expressed my sincere admiration.
What should I thank you for? We met from a virtual garden, so we met and walked into the island in spring.
This is an agreement from spring. It used to change, but now spring is intoxicating. Along the alleys paved with bluestone slabs, there are Chinese rose flowers blooming quietly on the lonely walls. Your voice is like the spring breeze quietly blowing through my heart. At this moment, my eyes are moist. Because of you, I find that spring is like a lovely girl, charming and sunny. The clear river flows through the beautiful land of Duanzhou, and the daughter raised by water and soil is affectionate and touching, and the smooth skin color seems to be a fish in Xijiang.
I never hide my love for Xijiang fish. I walked along the river again and again. Even if I ride a gorgeous horse, I often look at the river like a green ribbon. I imagine a carp leaping onto the river on a breezy night, turning into a beauty, holding hands with me, walking through a long beach with two pairs of deep and shallow footprints, and snuggling together.
I told carp that if I could have a brick-and-wood house with a vegetable garden at the door, I would spend the rest of my life here, like Mr. Chen Baisha, teaching a few primary school students, turning my half-life knowledge into charcoal fire on a cold night and illuminating a strange land. However, after I said that, I was a little at a loss. In this age of exam-oriented education and utility, who is happy with the elegance of reading classics in the drizzly dusk and rain? Or do the ancestors who slept by the idyllic stream still have endless spirit of seeking knowledge, but they are still wandering in the dilapidated academy at midnight? At this point, I suddenly lost my courage. I should know that the hope for the future lies in the flowers in spring. Flowers wither, full fruits wander around, some seeds go far away, and those vacant ancestral houses become post stations for holiday migratory birds.
The migratory birds didn't see me. At the pier and a simple restaurant, I met flocks of birds from the Pearl River Delta. They are wearing red vests of newspaper reporters, with rosy faces and clear voices. They decorated the spring and were jealous of the flowers. When they go back, will they, like you and me, tap the keyboard of the computer and write a poem dedicated to the island in spring?
I may not understand birds' poems, but it's fate to meet them. There is spring in fate, you, everything on the island and my memories of Duanzhou in the distance. A story published without a carrier is as hazy as a distant mountain at the moment, and there are always thousands of turns. After that, it was difficult to leave, and tears flowed. Tonight is nothing but a dream of spring. Because of you, I am willing not to think so much. I just want to plant my poor dream on the island, throw away all kinds of troubles imposed on me by life, pack up half the old troubles, and read, draw and write in this quiet time. If there are clear footsteps at the door, it must be gentle and lovely you. I will collect the clear spring on the island and make a pot of dancong tea for you from the mountains in eastern Guangdong. Because of you, I will open the door of the farmhouse, let the spring breeze knocking at the door come in and send you the fragrance of rape flowers.
From then on, there is a fate that will be deeply rooted in my memory. Because of the warm spring, your warm-hearted chivalrous feelings made me happy and warm my eyes in the arms of Duanzhou's mother, and I will never forget it in my life.
Shangqingwan
Since I have been to Shangqing Bay, I can't get over the slender stone road of the ancient Linjiang Village and the village head. In the dream, the painting of brush graffiti is the old house in Shangqing Bay, which is like a clear flute winding along the peak of Xijiang River, touching and euphemistic, turning the amorous feelings of Shangqing Bay into a gentle heart, which blooms in the winter after the clear autumn.
Because I can't remember the path under the bridge that I walked that day, I had to park my car on the slope near Shangqingwan Primary School. I was afraid that the car would slip when I left, so I carefully put stones on the wheels.
Walking down the stairs, life will give you many surprises. I saw the magnificent stone wall. The lines of the stone are sharp and fresh, as if drawn with brush strokes. Take a look at my latest work, Yun Guan.
At the corner, a shabby guard room suddenly appeared. Looking from the gatehouse, the tile roof on the lower floor is covered with tough and drought-tolerant weeds, and one roof has collapsed. The owner must have left his hometown and lived in a higher place with more beautiful scenery. However, I really want to untie many knots in my heart. Are the aborigines who fall asleep at sunset every day with the sound of waves and winds full of illusions about life like me? When I tap poetic words with the keyboard and render beautiful scenery from life with pen and ink, do you write praise for life with fishing nets? On a calm day, sail out to sea to catch the rich fish and shrimp on the Xijiang River? Are you as sad as I am about a bird that has gone away and a white cloud that has flown away?
Perhaps, the simple and hardworking aborigines will not be like me. I am so addicted to the fragrance of flowers that they are mostly creating a well-off life with their hands and feet. How much sweat did this stone road make the aborigines shed? They let happiness hang over their children like clothes. They accidentally turned into wings and flew to the opposite big city. On the weekend, they came back again, with a group of colleagues and friends, holding cameras to trace the history of Shangqing Bay, attracted by the beautiful Catholic Church, leaving a picture of youth flying.
Unlike them, I stopped silently in the aisle of a gatehouse, spread out rice paper and expressed my feelings with pen and ink. A hunchbacked old man approached my sketch, but her eyes could not see clearly. She said she was over eighty years old. Watching the old man's back slowly leave, I think I will be so old one day, but what will I think of that day? Who do you remember? Which scenery do you have in mind?
After painting the old house, I came to the sunny and scenic river. Several boats were quietly moored on the shore, leisurely old people were sitting under the big banyan tree, and a train clanged by the Xijiang Railway Bridge not far away. Very poetic morning, suitable for sadness, lovelorn and dreaming. If you don't have a dream, don't weave it deliberately. Look at those shrimp cages on the boat. Now they are empty. Happiness is not so easy to get. It needs your labor, dedication, devotion and luck, and it also needs fate.
I drew two more pictures and walked on the stone road before I left Shangqing Bay.
Will you remember me in Shangqing Bay? This lonely person who has been here again and again and is full of confusion and helplessness?