The shallow edge of the edge is deep

Always deep love, but the edge is shallow, but never changes the original intention.

Spring came to us, with her slender catkins sowing thousands of hopes. The breeze gets the bamboo willow, the Qiang flute has not played, and the song has been looking at the sky. The world only knows: the shadow of the wind fragrance, cold moon slender; dance sleeves brushed catkin, smoke lock lake dust. The three points of the spring breeze, who opened the mud ancient unchanging cold?

The company's main goal is to provide a comprehensive range of products and services to the public. I don't know who has a tight heart, but today, last year, here and now, the flowers bloom undefeated, dyeing my years. It is the red, different from the peony rose that deep as if to drip like intoxicating red, but that as in the ancient style ink painting slowly haloed March peach red, light red, like a beautiful girl pink face pretty life against the wind independent.

Last night's origin, flowers bloom overnight time, do not feel pity to provoke the ten miles of spring breeze. This is a flower that does not bloom in a conflated way, but is plain; the fragrance of the flower is also not strong, slightly intoxicating. Yes, it is ordinary and unexceptional, open on the countryside roadside, near the green mountains trickling, dotted with a corner of the starry sky. It will not stand out and see but will have me with it for a long time. Today, when I met with it, I felt a sense of heart-to-heart, as if I had not met it for the first time, but rather like a friend who had known each other for many years and had not seen it for a long time.

I smiled and sat on the ground; the flower was playing, and it was alive. The two of us just looked at each other, no one said a word. Occasionally a bee flies by, buzzing and miscellaneous, but as if it does not see this shabby wildflower with sparse flower juice, shaking his head and shouting, and then rumbling away like a bomber. I don't want it to stay and miss my mood to enjoy the flowers, but I don't want to wave it away. I just look at it silently, this hard-working life. The Zen master said: Only people who are pure in heart can listen to the language of all things. A flower is a world, a tree is a bodhi. Yes, I appreciate my flowers, why do I care how many flowers, bloom or light; flower fragrance or just leave a light trace; and what do I care about the bees? I only care about my feelings and the feelings of the flowers, but unfortunately, I do not have the same strange skills, can not hear the language of flowers, and can not understand it does not care about my opinion. I have a shallow relationship with the bee, but the face-to-face relationship is fleeting, but I am different from the flower, I can accompany it for a lifetime.

The breeze is blowing, not startling me half a ripple, but blowing it back and forth. I was afraid that it would be blown over by the wind and would not be able to straighten up again. I reached out to help it against the four winds but did not help after all. If it opens, it will fade. I can help it for a while, but can not guarantee it a lifetime of peace. This is nature. It is the fate of me and the flower, but also the fate of the flower and the wind.

The shallow edge of the deep may not be so important.

In this world, all encounters are caused by fate. The breeze will send you to my side, and I will pick up the wine bottle and invite you to enjoy the moon and talk about the past and present. If you're not, you'll leave, maybe never again, or maybe at the next intersection in your life, you'll meet again. The first time I met you, it was like the return of an old friend; when I met you again, it was like the first time I met you. The so-called love at first sight, life is like seeing for the first time, it's just like that.

I've read a quote by An Yiru; over millions of years and millions of people, only this young man is him, only this young girl is her, it is not optional. The fate of the magpies to build a bridge to carry the cowherd and weaving maid to meet on the seventh day of the seventh month, what reasoning, king's law, and what heavenly rivers are separated is also ignored. If you come, I boil plum tea for you, painting mulberry; if you go, I wash wine for you to say goodbye, waving a farewell. The edge, so it is. Let people expect, but can not help. There is no reason, just like you are destined to go with me.

The first time I went back to the same place, the flowers had been gone for a long time. I don't know if this flower will bloom again next year, and I don't know if I will have the time to enjoy it next year. Perhaps it is because of the unknown future of human existence that makes people more hopeful about life. In any case, after experiencing it, I will have a season of its face. The days of fellowship will eventually pass away, fading away to see no book. But the good feelings hidden deep in my heart, and with the fragrance of the memory, nurtured purer and purer.

The shallow edge is a blessing.