I like wind and rain, and I love the haze or grandeur when they come.
Summer rain, torrential, roaring, overwhelming and fierce.
East wind, spring rain, gentle and soft to the eye.
The farmland and threshing floor of my hometown once left the shadows of me and my partners playing in our childhood. The innocent and childish voices flew out, surpassing the space of childhood, or with innocent laughter stroking countless eyes in the night sky, or with mischievous horseplay teasing the scorching face of the sun. When the wind came, it dried the sweat oozing from the pores, cool and refreshing. In the sweltering summer, I always hoped for a rain to pour down, even if it was intense, I still couldn't resist walking through the rain curtain for excitement, and I didn't care about being beaten by my parents when I got home. Since then, I have buried simple but unforgettable memories of wind and rain.
I love to listen to the chanting of wind and rain.
When the wind and rain approach the forest, the forest opens its arms. The wind and rain hold hands and walk away quickly, taking dust particles with them, returning lush green and blue, stimulating vitality, and dressing up the universe beautifully in vigorous songs and dances.
When the wind and rain caress the mountains and rivers, the mountains and rivers stand up straight, responding with thunderous roars that reveal their tenacity. Then the wind rushes into the mountain ravines, shouting out vows of moving forward, singing all the way. Leaving the rain to wash away the dirt shed by the mountains and rivers along the gullies, winding its way eastward.
Autumn wind, autumn rain, drizzling continuously, bringing coolness and golden hues.
The wind rises and moves swiftly. Exceeding vast wildernesses, it ceaselessly whispers with the crops. The tone sometimes rises high, sometimes drops low, as seedlings grow vigorously in the rustling wind, swaying and playing with the wind. In this play, they create hope for their owners. The wind chants wondrous music without strings, shaking the clouds to dance in the nine heavens, sprinkling drop by drop with the soul of the clouds.
In the long journey of life, hand in hand with wind and rain, time passes quickly, seasons change, I gain nourishment from listening to the chanting of wind and rain, injecting it into my spiritual veins to face rugged twists and turns. That unique roar, tinkling, and chanting is like heavenly music. It's this ancient and unchanging melody that awakens confusion, gives passion to dejection, strength to weakness, and steadfastness to confidence.
Rain, torrential. Watching the rain lines connecting heaven and earth like a dense mist, through the water silk woven by the rain lines, listening to the rain voice freely pouring out its infatuation with the earth. Heaven and earth are connected, vast and distant, silently accepting the blood that has evaporated and returned, giving life the spirit to reproduce.