Generic radio script example about Xiaoman

China is the world's earliest study of climatology of the country, "Poetry" recorded: "April show Luo, May song product, August peeling jujube, October to get rice. The following is a "generic about the small full of the radio script example", for reference only, welcome to read this article.

General about the small full of the radio script model (a)

Twenty-four seasons, is the traditional Chinese aesthetics and life wisdom. Four seasons sometimes, Xiaoman is the lunar calendar twenty-four seasons in the eighth season, the meaning is from the small full, northern barley, winter wheat and other summer crops seeds have been fruit, gradually full, but not yet mature, so it is called Xiaoman. At this time in the world, everything is full of vitality, and calm: wheat grain full of rice insertion, silkworms knot new cocoon mulberry ripe, rapeseed pounding oil bitter vegetable show, looking forward to an appointment to the rain, the grains are born and go with the flow of time.

If you pay attention to observe, you will find that many of the twenty-four seasons are relative, such as the small summer heat, snow, snow, cold, cold, etc., and the small full of this season, should correspond to the full, but there is no full of this festival. After Xiaoman, there is the Mangseo (芒种), a traditional Chinese culture that emphasizes the Middle Way. Traditional Chinese culture speaks of the middle way, taboo "too full", "full", "things are full of pouring", "things will be contrary to the extreme! "The saying, so the festival only" Xiaoman "and not" Daiman ". Therefore, Xiaoman is a festival full of traditional wisdom. Monthly 72 Waiting Jiejie ":" April, small full of people, things to this small get full." If you don't have enough, you'll be left with empty regrets; if you're too full, you'll incur losses.

Water is full of overflow, the moon is full of loss, this is the natural way. We often marvel at the wisdom of the ancients, such as the word Xiaoman, although the festival, but used as a metaphor for life, is also clever. Ancient saying: "A gentleman would rather live without than live with, rather than in the lack of completion." If people are complacent, it is difficult to make progress; if they are dissatisfied, perhaps it is because their desires are too great. Therefore, this season of Xiaoman is a philosophical festival, and the first time I saw the word Xiaoman, I y felt a kind of chic happiness from it. The state of fulfillment is to be just right, and the feeling of Xiaoman is to be a little bit more than just right, to have space, and to look forward to it. So Xiaoman is not only a festival, it should be the pursuit of an optimal state of life, a philosophy of life. Ancient people with his philosophical wisdom, through the seasonal transition warmly remind people to sense life, understanding of happiness, in the April breeze and smooth gratitude, unremitting progress, conformity to nature, contentment and stop, with a positive mindset to meet a timing, location, and people and the harvest era.

General about the small full of the radio script example (two)

Early summer wind, brushed in the body of people have a kind of comfortable feeling, brushed in the body of wheat, but has a different feeling. Once the summer is over, wheat in a nirvana, to meet the arrival of the most pleasant festival of the year, that is, Xiaoman.

Xiaoman, a very fascinating festival, giving a person through the escape of a kind of pale green but also wet weather. In the north of China, Xiaoman means wheat gradually full face, towards the fullness of the season. The sunlight in this kind of day, always over the wheat field, shining a unique flavor, intoxicating.

Wheat ears swaying, the accumulation of a winter and spring flavor show in the sun. I walk in the countryside in the early summer wind, look at the wheat before the arrival of the small full season, full of joy, full of wonder; look at the sun under each plant wheat, pregnant women are like, in anticipation. Childhood memories, as if with the obvious in the slowly full up particles, and gradually moving away ......

I was in the wheat full face of the time, to see the years not only get people, but also get the crops. When people are young, many things in the dust is very complicated, but see very simple; wait until the realization of maturity, see the time, but has changed the years.

The wheat before the advent of the small full, and people, as many things to the fullness of the heart. The first time I saw this, it was a dream come true. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to do that, but I'm going to be able to do it," he said.

Decades are long and short, a person walking between heaven and earth, walking in the city and the countryside, look at the wheat grains when the small full season is coming, that is full of hope and joy and despair after the pale. I look at the wheat, the wheat look at me, both déjà vu, but also feel strange. I look at the village of those who have been abandoned homes, where I saw the owner once lived here, seems to have left the flavor of life in the past - a kind of unforgettable faint flavor. In these unattended flavor, I from the broken wooden door, smelled the world's aesthetic, atmosphere, as well as mundane smoke and cause and effect, or interspersed with the reincarnation of past lives ......

The deep feeling of this atmospheric field, but also in the sunlight of the tree shadow, thick enough, heavy enough to put to the door always hang a rusty iron locks. The old house has been abandoned, coupled with the walls of the house everywhere collapsed out of a big hole, from the outside, the empty house will be visible, why would you want to put a lock on it?

Rusty iron locks, not only rusted red once upon a time, but also mottled with the old house in the past through the scars of life and death. A lock is also a lock on the infinite nostalgia for the lost years.

The old house, accumulated a hundred years of love, in the wind, in the rain, wet generation after generation of pursuit.

The old house is living in the old time, people from one crop after another to come and go back, smack enough to the taste of change, joy in which, sadness in which.

The countryside before the arrival of the small full season, the fields, wheat are full of flavor, is to meet the wind, also seems to have saved up thousands of years of earthly destiny, blowing in the face of the people, lingering and enchanting; blowing to the ears of wheat, the wheat bulging up the promise of ten thousand years.

The sunlight steps lightly, the shadow of the tree, the shadow of the wheat, the shadow of the house in the nostalgia deepened color gas. The old house is alone, but very thick squatting in the doorway of the vicissitudes of time, look at the sky is the sky, look at the ground is the ground, not pessimistic, not sad, silk into the guard, until forever.

Thousands of years of villages, thousands of years of wheat, flowing in the dense thousand years of history and civilization. A spike is grouting wheat, is a kinda legend, picking a pole of suffering and comfort; a late fall of flowers, means that the countryside a magical ballad, permeated in the silent village alleys ......

A memory, in the light of day before the arrival of the fullness of the small, drenched in the smell of a quarter of the strongest. A spike of wheat with a full face is a kinda smoke and fire under the rivers and lakes, the stake of life and death. Let this moment of trust, in the grains of wheat gradually full of the pass, give birth to the weight, to give people heart strength, to wheat to bear.

People's lives are looking over the scars left by the years, the separation of life and death is no longer a distant memory, it is the pain of the skin, has always existed in the way of people's lives.

Time can filter everything, but can not filter the scenery of the shore of life and death. A wound, condensed into the countryside past, in the vulgar smoke curls, rising.

Dwelling on the sun's gaze, more hot than the small full season, more sentimental than the murmur of the light, more enthusiastic than the swelling of the grain of hope.

People walk through the scent of wheat pulp, and feel the thickness and atmosphere of national culture from the customs of the countryside. A spike of wheat, filled with the world's feelings of the countryside; a festival, highlighting the heaven and earth of the ten thousand reasons.

I walk in the direction of the rhyme, very chic, the direction of the toe, is the direction of life. The countryside is not alone, the old house is not lonely, where there are still people's thoughts at all times to do company.

The sky at the time of the small full, very temperament, very unusual, the kind of clean blue, lined with white clouds as the soul of the baptized, unadulterated cruise in the wheat field over the top of the village, fluttering in the village.

Wheat ripe a zhou, sericulture old a moment, this is the totem of agricultural civilization to bring people the charm of the changing years. People traveling a life, fall into the mortal world, dozens of years, say long, say short. Light time to people left what? A lamp, or a smudge of black, only the heart knows.

An ear of wheat, has been illuminated by the small full festival; whether it is the end, or the beginning, full up the aroma of wheat pulp is accompanied by the soul of the countryside fields will never drift away.

Until the end of the earth and the sky ......

General about the small full of the radio script example (three)

刮了一天的风, evening sky is cloudy, the cloud is splash ink black. Evening a sleep, dawn window has fallen rain. Dreams disturb the good night, sleepy, so I braced the umbrella to visit the alley. Listening to my own high heel shoes knocking crisply on the stone boards in the alley, watching the shadow of the lamp lengthening my shadow, the bottom of my heart is long. The rain can wash people's soul, not bad, the sound of the rain is like a long-lost piano music, so that the world has become quiet; this clean sound may be swaying in the Burgundy cup of red wine, diffused in the air is a fine sweetness, so that the heart overflows with a kind of joy that can not be named.

As the day dawned, the sound of the birds and the sound of the rain chirped up! I didn't realize that the birds are still so happy in the rainy day! Side of the ear to distinguish, there are painted eyebrow, white-headed, Bugu, there are several kinds of can not say the name of the day in the branches have seen, like a very small bird, never seen before, but now often appear. Snow-white fur, fly fast and run fast, can produce a variety of sounds and chirping clear and melodious. Think of the day on the way back from school from the overhead flew a colorful pheasant, so big! It was so beautiful that it disappeared into the bushes. The most is of course still magpies, sparrows. I do not know when this small village of birds suddenly more, about because people's environmental awareness is strong, inviting many endangered bird flocks here to recover. Bird is a very beautiful thing, symbolizing lightness, freedom, unrestrained. Watching and listening to birds on a rainy day can give people a relaxed and cozy spiritual enjoyment.

This sheep Xiao Xiao, pattering, like smoke like fog rain, is always the most good at stirring the memory of the string of the jade finger. I recalled that in junior high school I hated weekends after heavy rain. Because I had to ride my bike to school, passing through more than ten miles of dirt roads. The rain-soaked dirt road was muddy, and there were farm trucks and mud puddles everywhere. If you didn't have the skill to ride a bicycle, you would fall down, get dirty, or get stuck in the puddle. Luckily, I always had my grandfather with me on weekends after a rainy day. Whenever I had to leave home, my grandpa would put on his rain boots, put on a piece of plastic film cut from the inside of a fertilizer bag, and walk out five or six miles to see me off. When I encountered muddy places, Grandpa would help me through, and his hands were so big and dry that I felt secure when I held them. Even to the village entrance, the old man is willing not to go back. I said: Grandpa, you go home, I'm fine to walk by myself. Grandpa said, "I'll walk you to a good road before I go home. To the good road, I desperately asked Grandpa to go home, the old man stopped, stood there, watching me go. Foggy, I walk a section of the road, I waved to Grandpa to signal him to go home, Grandpa also waved to me, signaling me to go, do not care about him. This is so often look back and look, until grandpa disappeared out of sight, I do not know if grandpa has gone home ......

Another memory of the young autumn rain, the weather cleared up, grandma often hold her walking stick to lead me to go to turn over to the rain wet firewood, or a pile of corn husks or a pile of collection of dead poplar leaves, to find a piece of dry land, to spread out the firewood, exposed to the sun, and to the sun. Find a piece of dry land, spread out the firewood, expose it to the sun, and wait for it to dry out. Even though she was weak and sick, my grandmother, who had been thrifty and hardworking all her life, still did these piecemeal tasks seriously, with the hope of winter warmth burning in her eyes. I remembered my grandmother's firewood, and thought that I might be able to beat some of the difficulties, and when I met the sunshine, I still had to get up and show the splendor of my life!

The day continues to brighten, the wind in the clouds thin, light, scattered, the sun in the clamor of the birds squeeze out of the clouds, issued by the dawn. It is time to go to work.

The days are long, memories are piled up on the verge of moldy, to find a sunny day to take out the sun, those who need to forget things let it float away like floating light; need to remember things such as fire like burning out positive energy. So suddenly realized: the heart is ethereal, the dream is clear, life is clear ......