On Hu Guang's Excellent Prose

When we arrived at Taiping Lake, there was a light rain in the leaden sky. The lake surges at the foot of Huangshan Mountain. Just looking at it will knock over my five-flavor bottle and my heart will surge. The sadness and warmth in my memory made me think about how to distribute reason and emotion. The lake gradually spread out in front of my eyes, and I went back. Layers of ripples are like silk threads of my feelings, stirring my thoughts and flying back to my old life. In the early spring days that have passed away, a cool breeze blew and a spring rain fell, which often shattered my fantasy.

The forest on the mountain exudes a damp smell mixed with resin fragrance. I imagine that in its depths, there must be a stream flowing between the sprawling roots and rocks, and happy sunshine flashing on bushes and wildflowers. Green grass on the slope, small white walls and black tiles, is the home of immigrants. When my eyes saw the ripples, I remembered the part of White on the lake. A lake that will never lose its luster, sparkling water everywhere, a flash in the dark clouds, and the sound of rain hitting the sand on the calm lake. He used the artistic scale to measure everything that fell into his field of vision, and almost completely showed his literary talent in his description. Nature's conquest of the soul is equal to art. In the face of rough waves and clean beauty, my consciousness disappeared. A poet who is moved, but can't dream much. I can only stare silently, hoping that the sun will shed solemn golden light, open my hands and accept the baptism of happiness.

The boat is offshore, and the lake separates me from the land. The natural simplicity of the lake view makes it impossible for me to imprison the leisure of viewing. Only when I got to the lake did I feel as confident as a master. What besieged my mind was a force from being too familiar with the waterscape, which made me lose the skeleton that supported the noumenon of the article and even deprived me of my artistic perception. But my feelings are still full, and I started my spiritual journey on the water as usual. I listen to the music of the waves, just like fiddling with the waves on the lake with a wooden paddle and feeling the breath of nature. The lake has long lured me to play a role in the water world for more than ten years. This lake will always be descriptive to me, although I have thrown a lot of sentimental pen and ink at it-not to explain a theory or judgment, but only to provide a personal proof through the narrative of life-my admiration has not diminished. I want to complain about the restless wind on the lake, which ended the stability of the water surface and split the whole world. But it can really dispel the boredom in the long-term vision and bring the joy of change, just like a person stepping into a new life stage from an old life stage. They are so closely connected that I don't know where to end the flowing paragraph. I was urged by the waves splashing from the stern, and my heart was moving forward, expecting more wonderful appearances. What I am trying to examine is not only the transformation between old and new life forms, but also the profound logical connection between them. I think so, as if I were approaching a philosophical proposition. I slowly translated my eyes and looked at the ripples. If the sky is not so gloomy, I should be able to see the breaking point of the sun jumping happily from the depths of waves and eddies, echoing the rhythm of my heart. Looking up at the vast sky and overlooking the noisy world, what a wonderful and harmonious correspondence! Every time I go to the lake, I almost give up all the details provided by nature, and only focus on the peaks, valleys and clouds ... My soul is taken away by the huge momentum that permeates the lake, and my thoughts are deeply shocked by it. Like a star, I fly to the universe, like the rushing water on the ship's side, let the sunshine take away the blue sky, turn it into a carefree cloud, and drift to another piece with the wind.

I think I will never know all the mysteries of Taiping Lake, just because I can't dive into its deep bottom and see the creatures there. I always stay on the water.

The change of the lake view has also changed the mood. I can't get rid of the idea of getting rid of the old life state and welcoming the new process, and I can't wait for the scenery to stay a little longer. This fleeting scene is as unchangeable as the change of seasons. In spring, Qiu Guang collects by the lake, and the trees on the shore are lush, knowing that spring is coming; Yellow leaves fall on the lake until autumn is near. Year after year, the color of Four Seasons Lake always follows the fixed pattern designed by God, refusing to change, like an hour hand around the dial, drawing countless circles accurately and repeatedly, only sighing without a trace of shallow decline. Am I really a follower of natural time series, or am I a fool who is used to going the same way? The answer is, of course, the exact opposite. Thinking like this, I feel that the ripples are swinging like music, but the notes are ringing in my heart.

The rain is getting heavier and heavier, and bright diagonal lines weave a net covering the world, deleting green forests, grasslands, houses, grids and sails from the picture one by one. The lake area fell into a mysterious chaos, which seemed to cover up the colors in my memory. My thoughts disappear in the current, just like the tradition is aging and extinct in development. Cool raindrops moistened my sensitive heart. I don't know where the ship is. Turn around and return. I was in the cabin for a while and on the deck for a while, thinking only of lost thoughts, but ignoring the scenery on the lake that was really worth seeing. How many descriptions can you leave on the paper before you get the pen now?

Many yachts returned to the shore, rolled up their sails and flew far away, and the mast jungle silently pointed to the vast sky. Seen from the window of the ship, it looks like a still life painting in a frame. I got off the boat and walked along the secluded path by the lake. Rain is carried around by the wind, and colorful umbrellas float by, just like gorgeous flowers. The smell of fresh grass and rotten leaves is floating in the air, and it permeates the whole body like water with a gentle breath. Several ducks swam around in the shallow water near the beach, and a group of lake gulls put away their white wings and stopped on a small trestle that reached into the water, taking a bath quietly and clearing the light. Of course, I will bring it into the camera, and my mind will be enriched again. In the days to come, every time I see this picturesque photo, I will think of this mountain and lake I visited in the cold rain.

The beautiful Taiping Lake is a little blurred in my sight. At the same time, it also entered my memory and became a shining fragment in the process of life.