The Camphor Tree in My Dream

The wind rises, the sound of rustling leaves, another autumn, the north is already full of gold, a few pieces of naughty fall in the pages of the book, is trying to get some literary breath it. I thought of the balsam fir tree that I used to snuggle with, that is it always accompanied me with a piece of leaves through those lonely times.

In retrospect, the growth of age seems to have left an indelible wheel of years in the brain, always remembering those throbbing times in the boring life, is this dull life, drinking a cup of mellow coffee, in the bitterness of the search for that mellow. It seems like yesterday, that foggy hazy morning, just as the pursuit of romantic young hearts, waiting under the balsam fir tree, listening to the radio host to his own hobby of playing the repetitive song day after day, but do not feel bored at all, perhaps this is the power of the recognized classics. The first thing you can do is to look up and see the lush foliage dotting the tiled blue sky, with a bit of a frosted effect. That is still waiting for your free time to explore the dream among the white clouds.

The search is between a touch, but the autumn wind blowing leaves of the clattering sound, and is in this moment the white clouds and dreams a piece of blowing away. There is only the clamor of the leaves and the sound of the restless heart beating in your ears. It is because of the distant white clouds, or the late you, in fact, I can not say. Maybe the wind broke the wonderful silence!

In fact, I just had a beautiful dream reminiscent of my youth, perhaps in this September of the falling leaves, in a quiet and wonderful night will remember the encounter, when the real music plays, I will continue in reality my dream, the pursuit of the goal, hope to be able to write, but also in the bland looking for a stimulus, now deeply experienced The "young man does not work hard the old man is sad" is correct, as well as the memory loss of helplessness. I always say "ask the canal that is clear, for the source of living water to come" with the age of the pen but do not know what kind of language to record, the mind is full of confusing thoughts, not only pure thoughts, but also interspersed with nasty evil ideas, then feel dizzy, I think the thought and lazy it! Only that balsam fir tree is still growing, in fact we can't see his annual wheel, only know that it is getting thicker and thicker.

Listening to familiar music always reminds people of those who can look back as well as those who cannot look back. Once we hope to face the sea, spring flowers, now face the yellow earth, back to the sky. Once we fantasize about how beautiful their wives, now we know that beautiful in life is really not very useful, that light body will one day grow old rickety, these are compressed by the years into a sense called experience a sense of affection as hard as fossil.

Occasionally, we will be scattered in the moonlight at night, through the breeze slightly drunken memories of those years ago, together with the embarrassing things done, and together with the game and all the good or regret, we used to get drunk together, just yesterday, but so far away. Now that we are in the community, there are a few who can hold each other up after getting drunk and spilling their guts to each other, there is no one to talk to. The first thing you need to do is to look at the moon in the sky, the ground is still bright, pack up your dreams, ignite the fire to make progress, and keep a passion in the fertile ground of affection. Drunk can only temporarily forget the pain of yesterday, wake up and then remember that a balsam fir tree is not which a green, now the north has been full of gold, the northern swallows have flown south to seek a comfortable environment, flying in the autumn breeze is drifting yellow leaves, falling on the dusty asphalt road, into the next year's spring mud, nourishing the next year's green, enjoy the taste of the harvest brought by the intoxicating cool!