There is a family, an old man, a girl and a yellow dog under the small white tower beside the tea cave stream. The sun rises, the boat sails by the stream, the sun sets and the boat closes. This life is virtually a painting, like withered vines, old trees, faint crows, small bridges, flowing water, ancient roads, westerly winds and thin horses. This image and taste.
They precipitate the vicissitudes of life, silence and sadness.
As a painting, it has an indelible appreciation value and a strong local flavor. As a reality, it has its own unbearable heaviness. Being a person in life is another kind of sadness and helplessness.
Cui Cui's mother gave birth to an officer's illegitimate child, and she died a long time ago. Her father died as soon as she was born. When I was a child, Cui Cui was accompanied by Grandpa Huang Gou's ferry and his vague memory of his mother. What I have felt for many years is the wind of Linxi stone, skylight, sun and moon and rivers.
Cui Cui grew up in windy days, and his skin turned black. A pair of eyes are crystal clear. Nature raised her and educated her to be innocent and lively, just like a small animal everywhere. People who are so nice are like weasels on the mountain. They never consider cruel things, never worry, never get angry ... just like a landscape in the picture. She lives in this eternal picture.