Grand poems of the Spring
Spring's evening, a curtain of rain rolls away, the smoke and dust gather in a tight cloud, leaving it as if they've escaped the somber embrace of the world. The soft smoke and faint wind make it seem as though the smoke is escaping its hold, and yet the smoke itself seems to linger on the skin. In the grand hall of a high-rise apartment building, where the old windows once stood and now are part of the modern architecture, I find myself alone in a small space that is more or less like a garden. The winds howl from all directions, as though they're trying to escape the clutches of this world's gravity.
Upstairs, the clouds of杨柳 are painting themselves with hues of light and shadow that appear to be drawn from the dark sky. The dimmer the stars begin to fall, it becomes clear that these clouds are not merely a representation of the night but are instead capturing the essence of what's yet to come. I find myself standing in front of a building that seems both ancient and modern, where shadows seem to float lazily across the ground, their faint edges suggesting that life continues as though it had been all along.
Looking out at the city below, I see a cityscape that is both grandiose and small. The tall skyscrapers of buildings in the distance are painted vibrant orange and yellow, while the darkened sky behind them seems to be catching an echo of their colors. As though I'm sitting on the edge of the window, I can't help but wonder at how life has come to a halt here, with nothing more than a flickering light reflecting off the surface of the window.
Upstairs, the ground beneath my feet is made up of concrete slabs that seem to pulse and vibrate. The sounds of the street below me are like an echo, reverberating through the air as though it were an organ with its own internal symphony of life. I find myself in a position where I can only look at the horizon, seeing miles beyond, but nothing more than that. The city seems to be in a state of perpetual stillness, its breath lingering in my lungs and influencing everything around me.
As though I'm standing in this small space, I find myself lost in a world that is both ancient and young. The winds howl from all directions, yet they seem to carry no weight, as though the world were entirely composed of this moment. I find myself at peace with the situation, unable to see beyond what is within me, nor to look into the depths of the darkness that lies beyond my feet.
Looking back at the street below me, I see a cityscape that seems both familiar and foreign. The tall skyscrapers seem to glow faintly in the distance, their colors shifting as though they were responding to some unseen force. As though I'm sitting on a bench outside the window, I can only wonder how much of this is a projection of my own mind, and how much it's something that has always been there beneath the surface of life.
