Prose of insects singing on autumn mornings.

"Remember when I was a child, follow niang to drink tea. Grinding snail shells in front of the door and making mud in the alley. Now that people have grown up, their minds are in a mess. " The word just turned over the old paper that day, and suddenly I caught the word of Chen Baisha, a great scholar of the Ming Dynasty, which was neither a poem nor a word. There seems to be something twitching in my chest after a long silence. Suddenly, some residual snow melted in my ears, and the stream was dripping with artistic conception. This is in midsummer, cicadas are screaming hard, screaming enthusiastically and coming together in a freehand manner. In my mind, although it is obviously a sound, I haven't seen its shape for some time, but it has always been worthy of the unique and moving ridicule of the old man Baishi.

Compared with the four seasons and day and night in the countryside, there are some enchanting and twisted gardens in the city, and of course there are many birds singing and insects singing. But whenever you listen to it, it is always like a rigid and monotonous palace corner feather in the piano room, which has no lasting appeal. There seems to be a lack of rain and dew in the greenhouse, and it is difficult to find the passion of the river flowing eastward and the warmth of the bamboo wind swaying in the red dust in the season.

Rural areas in the north will not wait for the ice floes to melt under the condition of smog. At that time, there was a spirit that lush grass gradually spread to the end of the world, and it was impossible to talk about it. Although the crisp light rain rained several times in succession, the returning swallows enjoyed themselves in the picture from time to time, but the artistic conception still lacked the spirit of vividness. What is missing? Finally, I can't tell you which day it was. Somewhere on the sparkling water, a toad woke up early, blurted it out immediately, and took the lead in singing with a "goo goo" voice that still showed some milk.

At this point, the frog family, who had been silent for several months, finally had a boiling passion. The sound of "chirping and croaking" is like the rain in the bamboo forest, and then it forms a magnificent chorus, which is mixed with some ambiguity, day and night, from far and near, and resounds through the distant village and near Guo, making those birds who are thirsty all day long and chirp in the season unable to help at a certain moment. From then on, farmers felt that the world was really lively in the village where they breathed a sigh of relief after getting rid of the old cotton-padded jacket.

Large tracts of wheat are still growing in the field, and the sun shines brightly on the earth. In such a beautiful world, except for a few days when the cuckoo feels deep in the sky, the only insects that are busy on land now are always busy year after year, or red or black ants. It's just not as interesting as those farmers who bend over fertile soil for generations. Even though I was so tired and sweaty, even though my joints crunched, there was still a scalper trying to sing so loudly suddenly, which was quite poetic.

Moreover, in the leisure time of busy farming, we only need to have a look at the fields and fields. As far as we can see, so many miscellaneous wild flowers have been blooming noisily, and some bees, whether domestic or wild, are buzzing endlessly, as if they were carefully accompanying dumb moths and butterflies.

In the endless fields, an old rabbit with a funny beard always leads a group of toddlers who have just left their nests and makes a hasty appearance by the pond in panic. Its real meaning may only be for its children to witness-sometimes the toad in the pond closes its mouth and falls into a shallow sleep, and suddenly it is startled by the rabbit's sudden recklessness, and then it bursts into the clear and deep water from a dark green lotus leaf with a quite professional diving arc, leaving only ripples on Shui Pi's son.

What is even more chilling is that the water snake, which was lurking behind the toad and disguised as a swaying lotus stalk, is about to launch a lightning attack. Maybe it is still gnashing its teeth and cursing viciously, but it has to twist its weird waist and sneak into the deeper reed like a ghost. So the fledgling rabbits have to learn an important "rabbit" life experience: how sinister the world is, and we need to be cautious when entering the WTO. Those seemingly enchanting river ponds are unfathomable under the sky. How dare they get close to each other easily and freely?

In the summer of unbearable heat, thousands of singers hiding in the world of cicadas under the treetops have a short rest in the lightning, stone fire and thunderous downpour, enjoying the rare coolness with their eyes full. Most of the rest of the time, they always inspire all their enthusiasm, sing praises and practice in the darkness for several years with tireless attitude.

In view of the colorful world in broad daylight, what is generously given to them is just a stage connected day and night for just a few days. Therefore, the world of cicadas sounds as if the singers are all the same, and it is even more precious, and it can be called the top master of "cicadas are different".

For farmers, "they fell asleep and hung up their hoes." Anyway, crops grow comfortably and vigorously there. Even in the shallow dream on the cold couch at noon, you can hear the sound of corn jointing and beans blooming. The sweaty season is short, but it is really a pleasant leisure time. So, years ago, in the twelfth lunar month, in the snow, accompanied by the "chirping" of magpies on the roof, my daughter got married. She heard that there was a cicada under the eaves of a locust tree hanging from the dense trees in front of her husband's house, only to hear its voice, but not its shape. Suddenly, she tore open her throat when the chicken crowed and kept shouting "hot oil, hot oil". She has become a wife.

In the turn when she shyly stroked her slightly swollen belly and her eyes were blurred, the man and her in-laws actually got the news long ago: the pregnant daughter-in-law went back to her mother's house for a "rest" in the first year, and her husband's family's mind and courtesy were a face that could not be ignored. Fortunately, the bowl-sized "June Fresh" peach with crisp rock sugar has long been ordered. It's hard to be expensive. The light green color is just right. The twisted corners of the mouth are still stained with faint red rouge, which is very festive to get started. Just fill a few bamboo baskets, load a carriage, ring the bell majestically all the way, and send the daughter-in-law in red and green to her parents' house. When the neighbors who held the wedding with wedding gifts came to ask for help, they smiled like pomegranate girls, and each family personally gave one. If people in the yard don't like it,

"Warm Oil" people do seem to have some ability to predict Oracle. At lunch time, every farmer who called his daughter into the house was squeaking in the oil pan. Seasonal vegetables are not rare, and the most important thing is that a mass of white flour has long been reconciled. In the dog days and June, every mother's face is covered with sweat, but her heart is extremely carefree. The rolling pin stood for more than half an hour, and the strength of a dustpan hand-made noodle immediately fell into the pot. After the pot, the well was soaked in cold water for several times, and the hot and fragrant peanut oil was poured with chopped green onion and pepper, drenched in a bowl of noodles, and the drums were sharp. Seeing that her daughter grabbed a pair of chopsticks and squeaked as before marriage, her heart instantly became very soft.

negate

On what day, on a muggy morning, another kind of cicada was chirping on a leafy willow tree in the village. This extremely rhythmic movement is completely cadence. Under the curling smoke, I listened with bated breath. The homonym of the cry was "Miss Yao, Miss Yao". What did you read? Have you really read the yearbook? I think this is probably true-because farmers know it, they just hear it, and in a few days, it will be the solar term in beginning of autumn. Stroll over and look up at the trunk. I read the cicada slough that faded the night before. It hangs so delicately and firmly on the mottled bark. The size of a peanut is like a golden pocket-sized handicraft. I want to know how it is willing to abandon it there, and whether it will return to look for it at a certain moment like an epiphany.

The sky began to appear blue, and although a few white clouds drifted slowly from time to time, they became clearer every day. Climbing high and looking far, in the endless autumn fields, among the large areas of fruit trees, all kinds of red and yellow fruits are scrambling to bend the branches. Sorghum ear made a blushing rickety gesture. The whole cornfield clicked. The wider soybeans are surging, and when you look closely, there are already several surprising yellow spots. On such a sunny day, the cool breeze is always keen to play with the layers of fallen leaves between heaven and earth. Generally, you can't hear the chirping of autumn insects in the clear autumn.

You must stay until night, when there are thousands of lights and stars in the villages around the earth, the sky and the Milky Way across the north and south, you can clear your mind, put aside all the joys and sorrows during the day like a golden cicada and turn your mind into a free fish. Listen and watch-on a pleasant night like autumn water, crickets are singing under the haystacks in all directions, and grasshoppers are singing in the grass. Jumping high, the mole jumped into the air, crashed into the shining windowsill, and was instantly held in the mouth by an agile gecko. On such a beautiful night, the snail also came out to wander while the dew was falling, slipped quietly onto a vine stem, shook the soundboard I don't know where it was treasured, and played the piano in the mottled moonlight. ...

In my childhood memory, my father was a master at catching slugs. After I caught it, I picked a handful of green sorghum stalks and woven them into a small cage with cornices and upturned corners. A chubby emerald slug is full of energy, staying in a cage, smoothing his beard and eating green onions. After eating, I squeaked and screamed all day long, and I was happy. When I grow up, every year in Qiu Li, my father, who is over 70 years old, still asks fellow villagers in the city to bring him over and hang him in the ventilation window in his study or balcony, just as he did in those years. Every time I cry, it seems that I have been holding it in my arms all autumn. Close your eyes and listen. It's always like leaning on my father's broad shoulders on the autumn night of my childhood, looking up at the stars and listening to the insects in the autumn fields.