dawjackson
Bio
Stories (50/0)
Crossing the QinLing Mountains
The Qinling Mountain, in the eyes of geographers, is the dividing line between the north and the south of China. At the top of the mountain stands a stone wall with two arrows carved on it, one arrow to the north: Yellow River Basin; one arrow to the south: Yangtze River Basin.
By dawjackson9 months ago in Fiction
QingHai Lake in spring
Because it is deep inland, spring comes late in Qinghai Lake. Because of the high altitude and lack of oxygen, the spring temperature of Qinghai Lake is low. But even so, when the plum, spring and magnolia on the plain are competing to open, the seemingly yellow and bland river valley scrub and alpine meadow along Qinghai Lake, the dotted plum, crystal flower and microporous grass growing on the flowing rock slope are quietly changing. Especially the northwest needlegrass, sand song and splendid grass around Qinghai Lake, alpine meadow purple flower needlegrass, cold song, phoenix hair daisy, ice grass, clematis are also in the spring cold, cold air gradually spit out the new stamen.
By dawjackson9 months ago in Fiction
The ChangMing Lamp
After many years, sitting again at the doorstep of my old home at night, the cool breeze and the bright starry sky. Looking into the distance, past the vast farmland in front of the village, over the bleak twists and turns of the mountains by the village, you can see a rounded cone peak, a bright red and yellow lamp on the top of the mountain is particularly eye-catching under the starlight. I don't know how many years this light has been on, but when I was very young, I heard the adults pointing to this light and talking about it, and they also knew about this light by their elders. It seems that since ancient times, this lamp has been on at night, shining on the villages and neighbors for tens of miles around, becoming a long light that never goes out in the dark.
By dawjackson9 months ago in Fiction
The revelation of mimosa
At the request of my daughter's language teacher, each child is required to keep a pot of flowers (grass) for careful observation and write an essay about writing things, so my wife went to the flower garden and bought two relatively inexpensive mimosas and put them on the fence of the balcony.
By dawjackson9 months ago in Fiction
The disappearing orchard
That orchard, it's been seven years since I left it. For me, that small orchard of nearly two acres has a special meaning. We came to this earth almost at the same time. But when I crossed the second year of my life, the fruit trees, which had been grafted several times, could not escape the fate of old age after all. There was no guarantee that they would bear fruit, and it seemed like a certain fate that they would be cut down.
By dawjackson10 months ago in Fiction
The Pain of July
July, the garden of hibiscus and violet flowers are blooming hot, I pass by them every day, a gorgeous smile to welcome me in anger. I often think, if there is no pain and suffering on earth, no old age, no sickness, no unrest. Beauty, when the language of flowers to make the best interpretation. I am a person who loves flowers inordinately, and I have always felt that there is no beauty in this world that can be so specific and pure.
By dawjackson10 months ago in Fiction
A vow of compromise
In the case of surrendering from modern life, the so-called hermitage is just a state of mind. Fifteen years ago when Chen Tiango exercised on this trail, there was almost no one there every day. Now, because there are too many morning walkers on the mountain, the municipality has made a road that is barely staggered by two cars. The slope against the mountain shaved into a grimacing cross-section, suffused with weeds and shrubs, uneven, like a fresh haircut.
By dawjackson10 months ago in Fiction
The long Bench
That bench, which originally existed in the form of a tree. It was a date palm tree, standing in front of the old family home. Later, the village to repair the street in front of the door, the tree in the way, the father cut, look left and right, think the wood can not be wasted, it made the bench. Father is an amateur carpenter.
By dawjackson10 months ago in Families
