Zhang Xiaofeng

I like life, life is full of fun.

I like the sunshine in winter, unfolding in the confused morning fog. I like peace and distance, I like the light and heat without noise. When people sit around the playground in the noon sun, the original and simple image always touches my heart deeply.

I like walking on the narrow mountain road in the spring breeze. Strawberries are like delicate red lanterns, tied diligently all the way. I like to look up at the sharp buds on the treetops. There is an innocent pink in the extremely tender yellow-green color-it seems to be ready to give something and show something at any time. That gentle and pragmatic behavior often teaches me some of the most beautiful truths in silence.

I like to see flat, shiny rice fields. Tiny seedlings are closely arranged together, like a fluffy blanket, woven from the feathers of many green birds. It always inspires me to lie on it.

I like the long days in summer, and I like to sit alone on the balcony on the hillside at windy dusk. The rice waves all over the mountains are surging, and the beautiful fragrant rice is tumbling. Slowly, the gorgeous clouds are washed away, and the soft evening stars are in place one by one. I like to watch this set. I like to sit in that comfortable box.

I like to see the reeds all over the mountain, and the sad white in the autumn wind. On the hillside, by the water, the beauty is so bleak. At that time, Liu told me that he got a poem in his dream: "The misty trees and reeds are all white." The artistic conception is beautiful, but it is plain and awkward. I want to make a quatrain, but I am reluctant to change it. I want to contact the ancient style, but I can't sing more sentences. So far, it's just a poem, a beautiful and isolated artistic conception.

I also like dreams, and I like the strange enjoyment in dreams. I always dream that I can fly over mountains and rivers. I always dream of strange colors and pleasant images. I dreamed of brown horses with shining manes flying in the wind. I dreamed that flocks of wild geese were resting on the beach grass. I dreamed of the Lotus Sea, which was completely boundless, showing off a vague scarlet at a distance-all this was something I had never seen before. I can't forget the dream of watching the sunrise in front of a purple mountain-it must not be purple, but emerald green against the rising red sun in Ran Ran, so I invented such a strange mountain scene in my dream.

Of course, I like mountains in real life, too. The long window in my office faces the mountains. Every time I sit by the window, I always sink into the green, a kind of unspeakable softness. In the distance, the white cross on the church spire stands tall in the transparent sunlight, holding up the blue sky high.

I also like flowers, no matter what kind, like thin autumn chrysanthemums, rich roses, lonely and clean lilies and long fragrance. I also like the little wild flowers that are unknown in the deep mountains. Cross, tree, star and sphere. I really believe that when God created thousands of flowers, he gave them the same honor.

I like another kind of flower, which blooms on people's smiling cheeks. When I was in an alley on a cold morning, I smiled and said, "Good morning!" " "I suddenly feel that the world is so kind, my fingers wearing leather gloves no longer feel stiff, and the air is full of goodwill.

When I get to the station and start waiting for the bus, I like to see middle school students with short hair and ears, in high spirits and as happy as birds. I like their beautiful broad and clear foreheads and lively and clear eyes. Every time I look at them, it always reminds me of myself and always feels like I am still one of them. Or simply full of fantasy, or so easily moved.

When I sit at the desk in the office, I like to have someone deliver the letters of the day for me. I like reading my friend's letters. Life without letters is unthinkable. I like reading letters from my brothers and sisters. Those innocent sentences always make me see the small town burning with phoenix flowers in the south again with tears in my eyes. I can't forget that summer when Fred sent me a fern leaf from the highest mountain. In such a hot summer climate, I suddenly felt sweet and refreshing.

I especially like letters from readers, although I may not have time to reply. Every time I read these letters, I always feel a special excitement. In this world, maybe someone has seen through me. Isn't that enough? I don't need to exist forever, I hope the truth I believe will exist forever.

I put the letters in many small boxes, and those cares and friendships are well preserved.

Besides letters, I also like reading some books, especially at night, under a light. I am not a very diligent person. I only like reading books about lyrics and songs. Sometimes it involves some Gu Zhuo's essays. Occasionally, I force myself to read some simple English books. I like the vivid changes in their writing.

After reading at night, I like to open the curtains and look at the sky, watching the stars like spring flowers in the garden. I prefer to watch the flickering lights in the distant mountains. It's so vague and quiet. Is there any night reading in it?

In books, I can't help liking those yellow thread-bound books. When I hold them, I feel that I hold a beautiful tradition, and the plain paper contains a kind of classical beauty. It naturally occurred to me that several people had taken it and several people had seen it. Maybe it's all in the past. The rise and fall of history and the iteration of characters are so illusory that only the wisdom in the book lasts forever.

I like sitting in the living room of Professor Wang's house, holding a thread-bound Kunqu score, in the soft light of the floor lamp. When he raised the old shiny brown flute to his lips, I began to sing softly with a straight face. Soft and bitter water mill whispers in the room, lonely and empty, like a pool of slightly forgiven Jiangnan spring water. My heart felt a helpless sadness in that ancient music.

That's how I like many old things. I got that little towel in the Father's Day composition contest of Children's Weekly when I was in the fourth grade of primary school. The corner of granite was broken when Xiaoman graduated from primary school. That doll is my most loyal childhood companion. The writing brush diary was written by the teacher at the age of seven. Those two candles were put in my cake by my classmates on my twentieth birthday ... I like these treasures so much that I often do nothing all night and immerse myself in many happy memories.

I like to look through old photos and see the little girl with big eyes and pigtails. I especially like the one sitting in the cradle, so sweet and carefree! I often think of what my mother said to me, "No matter what happens to you in the future, always remember that people still have a happy day." Yes, I am very proud. I had a happy time-not just for a while, I believe it was a long time in my life.

I like to check the old works one by one. If I see the shortcomings of my past works, I can't help being happy-I'm making progress! I won't stop! This is my happiest thing, I like progress!

I like beautiful trinkets, such as earrings, necklaces and brooches. So crystal clear, delicate and ingenious. They are all lying in a beautiful little basin, showing off different beauty. I like to look at them from time to time and put them on my body.

I just like this relaxed and leisurely life. I don't like precise time allocation and tight program arrangement. I like many things that are not practical, and I like enough meditation time.

I like sunny Sunday mornings. When the deep sacred music hit the church wall, I suddenly rose to another realm, without turmoil, war, jealousy and anger. The future of mankind has a new dawn, and that exact belief has brought me to a higher realm of life.

I like to come to the stream at dusk. There was no one in the air, so I reached for water-a stream brightly lit by the setting sun, fine sand flowing between my toes, and some white petals floating away with the waves, and soon became disillusioned-only to find that they were not real white petals, but just waves stirred by some stones. Sitting, sitting, like a warm trickle flowing between heaven and earth. Looking down thoughtfully, the rosy clouds over the stream were dazzling, and for an instant I felt my feet immersed in a bowl of flower juice!

I prefer the river beach without water, where there are weeds crawling all over my shoulders. At sunset, at first glance, there are endless white stones with a sense of desolation. The stone foundation has accumulated generous feelings in people's hearts. I like that kind of feeling, as if listening to people scold Qin dirty in the canyon, and the desolate aftertaste is endless.

I like things that others don't pay attention to, such as the cypress tree that is ignored on the lawn and the cypress tree that cowers under the tall cypress tree. Every time I pass by, I always stop to smell the fragrance and take a look at his humility. Sometimes I wonder if it is humble, because maybe it doesn't feel the existence of the dragon and cypress at all. Or maybe he doesn't think there is any difference between greatness and ordinary, although he knows there is a dragon cypress-in fact, there is no difference between greatness and ordinary.

I like my friends, and I like to visit them inadvertently. I especially like knocking on wet doors on rainy days. Talking about the past in front of the rain window is so beautiful. I remember visiting Zhizhi's mountain house in the middle. I will never forget her surprise when she saw me. When she came running and jumping to pick me up, the sunshine on the mountain seemed to suddenly ignite. We walked in the shade of sunflowers and talked slowly. That charming afternoon was like a brisk tune, which was played in a short time.

I like it very much, with a little reverence. This is the sea. The vastness and remoteness break my heart. And that magnificent weather, that smooth demeanor, that unfathomable depth, has been a silent challenge to mankind. I like home. I never knew I would like home so much. Every time I come back from outside, I feel happy and proud when I see that narrow red door. What a wonderful home I have!

I also like to sit by the window and wait for him to come home. Although there are so many passers-by, I can always tell his footsteps. That's easy. If there is footsteps, you will start running as soon as you enter the alley, and it sounds like a heavy and fast step, it must be that he has come back! I like the sound of him inserting the key into the door lock, and I like him panting to call my English name as soon as he comes in.

I like sitting in the living room after supper. The light, like yarn, spreads out gently. I like to listen to some concertos and warm my hands with a small teapot made of fine porcelain. At this time, I was in a trance and could imagine some idleness in rural life.

I also like outdoor life. I like riding a bike side by side with him. When we went to church together on Sunday morning, two cars were lying side by side on the road at dawn, and the golden waves of the morning sun splashed on both sides. I don't think it's a bicycle, but an airship riding the wind and waves, gliding in silent singing. I seem to have suddenly returned to the era when I just learned to ride a bike, so excited, so happy and so exclusive-I like this time.

I like rainy days. I like listening to the rain under the eaves in front of the faint light. The drizzle is like silk, gently reminding the day. At this time, I like to walk with him with an old umbrella. There are strings of sparkling water drops hanging on the umbrella-a beautiful pearl curtain. So we began to have a quiet and isolated world under the umbrella, and we were surrounded by a string of past events under the umbrella.

I like to look up and talk to him after reading a chapter. I like to imagine many things.

"If I die first," I said quietly, but my heart was filled with endless sadness, "what would you do?"

"Don't be silly, you silly child."

"I like to know, you must tell me, what will you do if I die first?"

He looked at me with a sad expression.

"I want to leave here and go far away to do something. I don't know. In short, this is a very distant and desolate place. "

"Are you leaving home?" I asked eagerly, looking around the hut decorated like purple dream valley. My heart felt a stabbing pain in my imagination.

"No, I want to work hard, make a lot of money, and then buy this house." He said slowly, and his voice suddenly became sad and deep:

"Let everything remain the same. Oh, no, let's not say these stupid things! "

I can't help crying. I don't understand why I like asking such questions.

"Oh, don't be silly," he comforted me. "We will die together. Think about it, how wonderful, let's go to the grand event in heaven! "

I like to believe what he says, and I like to imagine stepping into eternity with him.

I also like to imagine myself growing old alone. It must have been beautiful then. It's like a sunset sky. At that time, there was nothing to fight for and nothing to miss. Everything is pale, distant and indifferent. At that time, the wisdom was profound and clear, love was gradually alcoholized, and life began to change slowly, thus entering another quiet and beautiful world. Ah, at that time, at that time, when I looked up and saw the thoroughfare of pure gold, the gate of Jasper, and the horn that greeted me, I must be very encouraged and satisfied.

I like it, I like it, I deeply like it! I like being able to fill my heart with so many likes!

Feeling: wet clothes can't see idle flowers and listen to silence.