湖畔回望
沿湖而行,将离未离的一刻,回头所见,不过是水面余霞与一阵微风。
风带着寒意,衣领不自觉收紧。
那一瞬,没有言语,只剩光与风在湖面流动。
沿湖而行,将离未离的一刻,回头所见,不过是水面余霞与一阵微风。
风带着寒意,衣领不自觉收紧。
那一瞬,没有言语,只剩光与风在湖面流动。
忽然看见树下几丛细细的青绿,直立在草丛里。有些茎弯成圈,像细细的小蛇盘绕。
轻风拂过,枯草微微起伏。两只乌鸦在草间踱步,黑羽油亮,在淡淡的晨光里泛着微光。时而低头啄草,时而抬头张望。
生怕惊扰了它,我放慢脚步。
早春的枝条还瘦,只冒出几点嫩芽。
(1) Clouds drift away taking joys and sorrows of the fleeting life (2) purple dusk sky— geese flying over my head, trails lost in twilight (3) soft flower fragrance— primrose upon the roadside, childhood half-awake (4) sunset on the lake— a small boat drifts silently, tree-shadows ripple
She walks slowly along the shore and glimpses a white crane standing still in the water, its feathers pure as snow. At times it bows its head to fish, sending ripples across the surface; at times it remains motionless, like an unfinished sketch.
(1) bright light lingers softly on her smiling face after long rains (2) Oysters on the ice, whispering salty secrets— I lick my lips back. (3) Neon on wet stone— a lobster’s wink in the glass, the tide of hunger.
Wanderers of day, hunters of night—swift, slow, social, solitary—each lives by its own rhythm. Together they form a balanced world, like a symphony where every note is different yet essential.
It began as a simple birthday dinner—four of them, each ordering one dish. One was the “Vegetable Roll”: vibrant greens wrapped in translucent rice paper, delicate enough to admire before eating.
Neither of us had expected it—but some memories don’t need to be sought. They hide in a mountain curve, in a summer afternoon, and quietly return when we least expect.