I have never been to Tibet, but like Yuanmingyuan, I have been there in my dreams.
This is the closest place to the sky. The sky there should be as blue as freshly squeezed paint without any pollution; The clouds there should be like cotton candy, without any affectation and softness. The water there should be like Yun He in the Heavenly Palace, without any gray and clear.
Early in the morning, sitting on a green hillside, waiting for the first ray of sunshine, I saw white clouds inlaid with Phnom Penh. Then, there are more and more clouds with Phnom Penh, and finally the whole pure sky becomes shiny. The green hillside is also shining, as if I were sitting among the stars. I vaguely heard the sound of nature coming from the distant mountains, and the girl in Tibetan robe greeted the beginning of the day with the voice of the atmosphere. In an instant, the sound of birds singing, the footsteps of wild animals running, the sound of the wind blowing in the ear ... the silent morning becomes active in the most primitive voice of nature. I also started a journey-an opportunity to touch the sky.
Walking in the bazaar in Lhasa seems to have crossed time and space and arrived in the Tang Dynasty. That small group of travel-stained caravans infected the holy land with joy. Those rows of houses with a history of thousands of years, maybe they are the owners of this city. Silently guarding history. I have a bracelet in my hand, a hat on my head and a Tibetan robe. I looked at the country's proximity to the sky and smelled the air, as if I were a messenger sent by heaven to travel around the world. Still walking in the street, the land covered with broken bricks has undergone years of baptism. Although old, it still exudes a faint light. After receiving a glass of milk from a Tibetan, it seems that the body has really become different from people. Hot, there is a passion to rush, and the simple, kind and simple character of Tibetan people plays in my mind.
What I yearn for most is the rain in Tibet. What kind of rain it will be! Does the rain come from the sky or gush from the Yalong River? That rain should be sweet, the dew poured out of the jade emperor's cup. Standing on a high mountain peak, lightly drenched with rain, playing with rain, there is no enthusiasm in summer, no sorrow in autumn, and no sorrow in winter. Just like spring, touch your face like a mother's hand. The whole body exudes a refreshing fragrance, will it attract a butterfly? Will the small raindrops combine all people's praise of this "paradise" and absorb the beauty and strength of all the years?
In the evening, walking on the way home, I can vaguely smell the smell of rice mixed with soil. Wandering souls will be hooked back to homesickness by this smell, and they will speed up their steps and run home, lifting layers of mud and covering themselves with mud, so that they can hear their mother's complaints when they get home, but they like the sound. After dinner, sitting on the roof, staring blankly at the black sky, I always see the biggest and brightest star, reach out and seem to really touch it …
I woke up from my dream and came back to reality. It's still so noisy outside the window, and the sky is still frowning ... really? Is it true?/You don't say. This dream can only be a dream, then I hope I will never wake up.