The 128 most classic philosophical essays in the world

Chapter 122 Before the Rain
[China] He Qifang

A little coolness of the sound of rain drops to my haggard dream, maybe it will grow into a round green shade to cover myself.

The last flock of pigeons also disappeared after making a circle in the breeze with a low flute.Maybe they mistook the gray and cold sky for the coming of night, or they also had a premonition that the storm was coming, so they flew back to their warm cabin prematurely.

A few days of sunshine sprinkled a touch of green on the wicker, which was covered by dust and looked haggard, and needed a wash.There are also dry and cracked ground and tree roots that have long been looking forward to rain.Rain hesitated.

I miss the thunder and rain in my hometown.The rumbling and powerful blow echoed from valley to valley, as if spring buds were shaking from the frozen soil, waking up with a start, and sprouting in anger.The sound of the rain as soft as fine grass strokes it with a gentle hand, making it cluster with oily green branches and leaves and bloom red flowers.These nostalgia haunt me like nostalgia and make me melancholy.The climate in my heart is also lacking in rainfall like this northern continent. A soft tear in my dry eyes, like a raindrop in this gloomy sky, does not fall for a long time.

The white ducks also seemed a little restless, and their anxious calls came from the river ditch of the city with unclean colors.Some are not tired of rowing slowly like the boat.Some stick their long necks upside down in the water, with their red webbed toes stretched out behind their tails, and keep slamming on the water to support their balance.I don't know if they are looking for the tiny food at the bottom of the ditch, or they are greedy for the cold in the deep water.

Several have come ashore.Take a gentleman's walk back and forth under the willow tree to relieve the fatigue of rowing.Then they stand staggeringly, caressing their white feathers carefully with their mouths, and occasionally shake their bodies or flap their wide wings to make the water droplets between the feathers fall.One has been groomed, with its neck bent to its back, its long red mouth hidden in its wings, and its small black eyes quietly closed between its white down, as if preparing to sleep.Poor little creature, is that what you do in your dreams?

I think of the person in my hometown who released the ducklings.A flock of goose-yellow ducklings roamed among the streams.Clear and shallow water, green grass on both sides, a long bamboo pole in the hands of the shepherd.How happily his little procession chirped and chirped, and how tamely followed his staff over field and hillside!When night comes, the tent-like bamboo tent propped on the ground is his home.But what a distant imagination!In this dusty country, I just hope to hear the sound of rain on the leaves.The coolness of the sound of rain drops to my haggard dream, maybe it will grow into a round green shade tree to cover myself.

I look up.The sky hung low like a curtain of gray fog, and some cold debris fell on my face.A falcon coming from afar seems to be full of anger, anger against the heavy sky, its flat wings stabbed down obliquely from the sky, almost touching the mound on the other side of the river ditch, and then flapped its wings , made a violent sound and jumped up.I was amazed by such huge wings.I saw the grizzled feathers between its ribs.

Then heard its powerful chirping, like the cry of a great heart, or the cry of seeking a mate in the dark.

However, the rain still did not come.

Heart mark notes
Silently expecting, dryly longing, and anxiously waiting, these are complex emotions about the rain that will not fall in the north.The pigeons returning early, the haggard wicker, the cracked earth and tree roots, and the irritable ducks are all waiting for the baptism of a torrential rain. The taste of love is like compressing all the hope and enthusiasm in a floating hydrogen balloon, and then waiting quietly, hoping that it will rise into the sky and turn into a hearty rain, washing the dirt of the world with force.

Let the storm come harder!
(End of this chapter)