Huang (1903— 1987), a native of Meixian County, Guangdong Province, is a modern writer, literary theorist and professor. He is the author of essays such as Beautiful Black Sea, My Half-century Experience, Yellow Prose and Critical Prose.

I love my motherland, and I also love its natural scenery.

I love not only the mountains and rivers of the motherland, but also every grass, tree, flower, stone, brick and tile, which are worthy of my nostalgia and care.

Don't say Russian forests, British oceans, Finnish lakes and Indonesian islands. China has its own magnificent and great natural picture.

We have Mount Everest with thousands of years of snow on our heads, a vast loess plateau, a lush Xishuangbanna, an endless North China Plain, a mighty Yangtze River, a virgin forest in Xiaoxing 'anling, a coconut grove in Hainan, a vast green pasture in the northwest, and endless rivers and lakes and swamps. ...

I love the land of our motherland! Strong winds swept it, hail hit it, frost and snow blocked it, fire burned it, heavy rain washed it, and imperialist shells bombarded it. However, despite the hardships, I persisted silently. In spring, it woke up again, confidently showing full vitality and a scene of blooming flowers.

This is the motherland's answer to workers: bare mountains are covered with dark green clothes, hills become green piles, valleys become vast green fields, swamps become mirror-like lakes, steep peaks bow their heads and yield, and violent rivers let them run.

The mountains and rivers of the motherland always have feelings for us. Every time we sing them a song, they always respond with equal loudness and enthusiasm.

I always wander in the world of China's classical poetry, experiencing the most subtle feelings, thought-provoking, sonorous rhythm, melodious rhythm, endless charm, and even more intoxicated by the poet's amazing description of nature. When I read proudly, I will unconsciously chant over and over again, carefree and fascinated.

How amazing the language of the motherland is! Every word of it is closely related to my life, with my heartbeat.

Even the simplest sentence can remind me of beautiful pictures and endless mountains, forests, cottages, fields, ponds and lakes.

Nature of the motherland often changes its clothes. In spring, it wears colorful clothes; Summer, covered with lush and light summer clothes; In autumn, it puts on a golden solemn dress; Winter is changed to white and simple silver.

Seasonal changes in nature promote the growth of new things.

This is the news of spring! You see, the branches are slightly blue, and insects are starting to sound outside the window. A new generation of insects are celebrating their new happiness in a familiar language.

Lush flowers and trees cover the ancient tomb, and moss is covered with residual tiles and waste bricks. The world has changed, but spring is endless.

How soft, lush and full of vitality the green spring grass is! Its green grass color extends to the footprint of spring.

Reach the distant horizon ...

Grass can sometimes arouse many associations and reverie more than flowers.

In the early morning of summer, in the misty countryside, the girl walked barefoot, stepped on the crystal dew on the grass, walked to the silver stream and gently filled a bucket of water. Larks are singing in the sky, and the sun shines on her bright red cheeks. ...

What a simple beauty of laborers!

In autumn, there are golden red fruits and colorful yellow leaves everywhere, revealing the slight tiredness of the trees.

On the clear autumn night, the feather clouds in the sky are like gauze, slowly dragged by the breeze over the Tianhe River, and countless grains of starlight twinkle in the Tianhe River.

Can't snow lotus get out under the ice peak and snow ridge? Do you think it is more beautiful than the water lily rippling on the blue water?

As the night gets darker, every tree stands on tiptoe, looking at the east and expecting the morning light. Sure enough, the red-faced grandson came out. It happily kissed every tree top, and its smile was golden.

Twilight lurches in the boundless Yuan Ye. Finally, I saw it collapse like a drunk and disappear into the night. When I wake up tomorrow morning, it has disappeared without a trace, only the rising sun in Ran Ran in the sky.

You may have seen the tiny shadow of the sun under the flowers, or the delicate tree shadow beside the vagina in the forest, but you'd better go deep into the forest and see the wonders of the arrow of light when the morning light shines in.

I have been away from my motherland for several years. In those days, I really can't tell you how much I miss my motherland. This memory is painful and happy. What hurts is the comrades who are far away from the motherland and the mountains and rivers of the motherland; Happiness is having such a great motherland that I miss it.

I often lie on the levee near the Yangtze River, listening to the sound of Jiang Tao patting the shore.

At first, it was just a drop of water from Koizumi under the snowy mountain ice rock, and then it gradually became a trickle between moss and talc, and then it jumped into a deep valley with white happy waves. It is growing and changing. Once, it was a clear stream, wandering between cattle and sheep and pasture. Another time, it was a boiling and roaring waterfall. Another time, it was a mirror-like lake, quietly reflecting the blue sky and white clouds. Another time, it was a torrent running between mountains and narrow valleys. I don't know how many twists and turns, and finally it accommodates many clear and muddy tributaries, forming an endless and mighty river.

I also often ask my companions to climb mountains.

We climbed the hill, looked back at the winding path, looked at the eagle flying under our feet, and lost the mood of shouting and whistling.

After climbing several hills, we saw higher mountains overlooking us. Climb the last peak, surrounded by towering cliffs, abrupt cliffs, rugged rocks and tall and straight pine trees. At the foot is a vast sea of clouds, and in the gap of the sea of clouds is a shrinking village, which is a path leading to the horizon like a hairspring. ...

We used to spend our holidays by the sea.

The green sea spits white waves, the blue sky is covered with a translucent jasper dome, and seagulls soar between sunny days and the sea. The sun sleeps under our feet.

And the waterfall of Huangguoshu.

A few miles from the waterfall, I first heard thunder in the mountains and saw the fog rising in the forest. Looking closely, I saw a torrent rushing down. Under the reflection of sunlight, it looks like suspended color training, but it is like a dragon spitting. The water rushed into the pool, causing boiling waves and sparkling blisters. Water droplets, large and small, floated up and down in the wind, like smoke and fog, like rain and dust, soaking people's sleeves. If there is a dangerous cliff above and a deep pool below, you can't stare. The noise was deafening, and the tourists were exaggerating and gesturing, but they seemed to lose their voices.

I have been to many famous mountains and rivers in my life, but what impressed me most was the stream in front of my hometown. In spring, the beautiful water is full, and the two holes in the bridge are like a pair of smiling eyes. The drizzle is like smoke, and people walk by with umbrellas from time to time on the bridge. On the other side, red cotton trees are in full bloom, swallows are flying around in the rain, and there are intermittent residual flutes in the wind. ...

The stream sings a happy song and flows away. It will hit all the coasts and flow to the sea. Quiet mountains, still in the original place, watching the waves of Ying Ying go away.

Once the running water is gone, it will never come back, but sometimes it will turn into one or two feather clouds and look at my hometown.