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and the cold rain

and the cold rain

The sky was always hazy for a few days, and the cold rain lingered continuously, making people feel upset. Recently, God finally opened his smile. As the weather turned fine, I invited my friends to go to Baima Temple to worship and dissolve the deposition in my heart. After bumps along the way, finally arrived at the place. The air in the suburbs was really fresh and refreshing, and the ancient temples after the rain had a slight dew at the beginning, spotless, and the seemingly blue smoke behind them rose up and down, making people seem to be in a fairyland because it might not be a weekend. At lunchtime, there are few tourists in the temple Newport Cigarettes, and the quiet is a bit scary. My friend and I stole Xiangxiang prayerfully, and in silence, bells rang far behind me. The tone is dense but not urgent, slow but not chaotic. Dense like spring rain, do not wear fingers; slow if the waves, the endless stream. A gentle spring breeze comes in April; the sky is as vast as the sky, with nowhere to look. It was a bell on earth, but it seemed to come from an illusory heaven, or from a more remote and mysterious place. I settled down for a while, for the beauty of this intangible. No, it's not just beauty, it should be a mystery, a call of the soul. The bell rang through the layers of sacred and imprisoned air, as if a pair of familiar eyes were watching me. The pictures in my head appear sporadic, like a movie. But to my own surprise, what I thought of was not a sage monk's story or a great man, but a face that I couldn't get to know��my father and my father should be unknown. He is neither a billionaire nor a celebrity in politics. An ordinary worker is too ordinary to be ordinary. His father was a veteran and guarded the country's frontiers for more than ten years. Now that my father has passed the age of no doubt, he still keeps the habit of getting up early every day to run and watch military news. In my mind, father is a representative of willpower, but in my childhood memory, there is almost no word for father. Because my father didn't return to my hometown until I went to elementary school, I even hated this word as a child, because it left me with a loneliness and a lack. When they were young, children were not sensible, they always liked to come and go, and showed off their parents. My friends often say Parliament Cigarettes, "My dad bought me new clothes" and "my dad took me to the playground." Every time, I can only leave silently because I have nothing. . Once a little friend shouted "Are you without a dad?" I was suddenly angry, came forward and desperately pushed him to the ground, and then ran away angrily. Running across the corner of the hutong, the anger instantly turned into a sorrowful sadness. I couldn't help squatting on the ground and crying. No one knew my sadness. My mother always said that my father was far away and would return soon. She may not understand that in the heart of a child, the father is not a lollipop, and a flower dress can make up for it. That day of returning a lot of proud and happy fathers is a summer day, and I still remember Still fresh. That day, my mother came to pick me up at school, and when I got home, I saw a stranger sitting at home. He was tall and thin, wearing a straight green military uniform, and his eyes were full of love and smile. I pushed and said, "I used to call dad," but I didn't say anything, so I just looked at him there stupidly, the air was condensed, and the time was still. I didn't know why I kept repeating the sentence. "Are you without a father?", "Are you without a father?" I will soon break through my hot bloodline. Actually, I want to step forward and hug him. He looks so tall and gentle, but my feet are like being stuck to the ground, and I can't step out. My father broke the deadlock, stretched out his hand and wanted to hug me, but I didn't know where the stubbornness and courage came from. I always wanted to see my dad turned around and ran out. The moment I stepped out of the hospital door Marlboro Cigarettes, I turned around, and I saw those eyes, the unforgettable eyes of that generation, full of loss and sadness. At that moment, my father seemed to be crying on the ground and crying Me, so disappointed, so helpless. Recalling that these memories are still painful, but no one is right or wrong. I should be grateful to my father, for more than ten years of upbringing made me understand that he can give up everything for me. The blood and persistent dreams of the soldiers can be transformed into a deep love after being a father. My father's love does not need to be described in words. I can only say that now my father has become my beloved. Although he did not appear in my childhood, he accompanied me to grow up and taught me how to do things and how to be a person. I may not feel anything under the protection of my father, but only after leaving home did I realize how important my father was to me. There are too many memories of my father, but I can never forget that those eyes shocked my heart like the bells of an ancient temple and stayed in the depths of memory. I once vowed never to let that kind of His eyes appeared in his father's eyes. Such sadness was enough once. Looking at Dingling's old father, I really want to be by his side forever, but the seeds of dandelion will always be taken to another place by the wind, whether you like it or not. I left home to study, I haven't seen my father for a long time, and my thoughts have intensified. My father is not an exposed person, but he said to me that when a bird grows up, he always has to fly, and someone can make himself miss it is a very happy thing. Indeed, the exotic sunlight in the early morning, the tea at the table in the afternoon, and the dreamy detour in the middle of the night brought me back to a certain scene in the past. At the moment, the boundary between time and distance has vanished. In an unfamiliar environment, I have more strongly returned to a familiarity��familiarity in thought, which is actually an unpredictable romantic feeling. It turned out that under the deep love of my father, I was never alone. Everyone would sing, "There is only a mother in the world." A trace of motherly love runs through the wanderer, which is emotional. But the father's love is different. It is like a shallow song, a clear water, a seed buried in the soil, such a low-key but so honest. I once cried after reading Zhu Ziqing's "Back", and my father's back is so small and so tall, I can't think of any proper words to interpret. If I had to find an adjective, I would like to say that father loves like Buddha. Protect us in return for inviolability and blasphemy. It is truly as calm as Buddha, as peaceful as Buddha, as wise as Buddha, and as sacred as Buddha.
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    and the cold rain
    and the cold rain
    The sky was always hazy for a few days, and the cold rain lingered continuously, making people feel upset. Recently, God finally opened his smile. A...
    Jan 13
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