Dusk is the end of the day, the end of time, the brilliant decline of the day, and the gentle handover moment of light and darkness. From noisy to quiet, from hot to cool, from busy to leisurely, dusk is such a process of washing the soul and combing emotions. It is the most beautiful moment of the day, with a hidden beauty.

The dusk in Tang poetry is not only such an ordinary moment, but also a rich image.

The countryside is the most beautiful at dusk. In the golden sunset, there are both the vast scenery of "the mountains cover the daytime and the ocean drains the golden river" and the detailed sketch of "the chickens live in Geng, the cattle and sheep live under". Sitting under the old locust tree, three or two old people whispered, and the tired birds returned to their nests in the smoke, which was quickly submerged by the dignified night and the dim lights were lit. The mother called her child, the dog barked, and the symphony at dusk suddenly reached its climax.

From noise to silence, from busyness to leisure, dusk is such a process of washing the soul and combing emotions.

The dusk in ancient poetry is not only such an ordinary time, but also a rich image. Wandering women's deep hatred for parting estrangement, ardent wishes for reunion and frequent retrospect of their hometown are all pinned on dusk.

At dusk, the appropriate memory is: "When my boat went ahead in the mist, the sun dimmed and the old memory began."

Wanderers add to their worries, and women in the boudoir begin to "turn pale and start to worry": "Sunset on the screen window is fading, and no one in the golden house sees tears."

The most sad farewell should be Li Shutong's Elegy: "Outside the pavilion, beside the ancient road, the grass is green, the flute is played in the evening wind, and the sunset is outside the mountain. ……"

When I was a child, I couldn't understand the sadness in the poem when I watched Old Things in the South of the City. When I grew up, I sang in music class before I had time to experience life. Weeping at night in the pavilion, we have to face the parting of one life after another, and that kind of helplessness is still lingering until the sunset disappears at midnight in Meng Han and the wine dies.

Dusk, like a heavy alarm, awakens people's life consciousness of diving.

It is the end of time, the glorious decline of a day, and the gentle handover moment of light and darkness. In the eyes of pessimists, it will be associated with the fragility and brevity of life.

For the first time, I realized that the potential connection between dusk and the decline of life originated from the elegy of a family in the countryside. The note is broken, rustling in the wind and the door is new. In black and white, the words "the mountains cover the day, and the sea drains the golden river" are faintly visible. Mother said that the family had just held a funeral. This kind of funeral couplet is absolutely different from what we often see, that is, "when you die, you don't know if you are blessed." I'm confused. What is the relationship between the poems recited in primary school textbooks and death and funeral, and this magnificent natural landscape? However, when I think about it carefully, I only think that the poem is so related to death, and I am afraid that only highly respected people can be called "Heaven Backs the Mountain" and "Yellow River enters the sea"!

This thorough understanding of death and poetry requires meditation. The first person who thought of writing "the mountains cover the day, the sea drains the golden river" into the funeral couplet was a genius.

In today's city, you can't see dusk. The sunset disappears behind the unknown tall building, which is always white and miserable. When the rush hour comes, the crowds surge and the voices rise and fall. The people in the bus and subway are staggered and crowded, and the cars are crowded in the busy sections, whistling everywhere and complaining. The broken zebra crossing, the red light that has been on for too long, and the urban air with excessive exhaust gas are inexplicably frustrating. Dusk has really become what the Japanese call "magic" time, a cursed time.

And I am looking forward to such a poetic dusk.

It's getting late, and there are few strangers in the sunset photos. The children sent letters, and their friends invited them: "There is a ray of green in the old bottle and a trace of red in the quiet stove. It feels like snow outside at dusk. How about a glass of wine inside? . "

In front of us is this picture: the oblique light outside the window gradually disappears into the haze, the hut is warm as spring, old friends prepare wine and light parchment lamps. Dim light pervaded the room. The smell of wine permeates every corner. It is thick and sweet, and the clear orange liquid sloshes in the cup. Take a sip of warm wine. In this season, drink it to warm your stomach and heart.

Thinking of this, I feel that the man named Liu Shijiu is really happy.