- Books, Literature, and Writing
Spring Is Here!
"It is already April, actually spring time, but why is it still snowing like mad". I had got used to standing alone behind the window for a long time, looking far into the distance, and trying to identify how many seagulls were flying over the Saint John River. However, at that moment, I was seeing nothing but whirling snow, which roused a little emotion of homesick: Shanghai must have been showing its charm at the time. As primroses were fading away, pansy violets were blooming everywhere, colorful tulips were welcoming visitors in droves, and cherry-apple and Chinese redbud trees were having buds all over the branches preparing the coming beauty contest of all blossoms... Those slim willow twigs with new leaflets were swaying in gentle breeze on banks of the small long zig-zag city river. As far as Xincheng Central Park near home is concerned, Chuisi Begonia trees were blooming everywhere, with sweet perfume of Chinese roses in the air and the rustling sound of bamboos in the wind. Sleep lotus leaves were spreading onto the water surface of the lotus pond, and golden fishes swiming swarming in the water under the bridge, because people drop food to them at there. Families, friends, and lovers come out for an outing after a heavy winter, sensing the sun and the air in early spring. Children were chasing around, playing and laughing. It might rain unsurpringly, and raindrops were falling into the pond, like musical notes out of violin. The fresh green is always my favourite part in early spring.
It was another day. The snow stopped. The morning sun was hanging in the sky but reflecting back cool radiance, which made people feel an icy cold. I was walking along the street, a long street that is all covered with snow. Along both sides of the street, naked brown-reddish rocks and grey-greenish woods stood. I could not feel any renewal of life from the virtual spring time in this ancient small city of eastern Canada. No flowers, no birds singing, no fresh green, and even no any sound. It seemed that the time had stopped in the empty and monotorious space, while I was staying in an endless white plain, and my eyes were becoming blind since I was unable to find a point of sight. I was going to run, but afraid of slippering and falling. I was just walking without any thought in head, expecting of seeing seagulls flying about at the end of the street, where is close to the river.
All of sudden, there seemed something that grasped me, exciting my mind but I could not see it. I stopped to try to find out what it was, and so listened with all my mind: a continuous low murmuring sound of a water flow. Where was it? I looked around. It was the little crystal stream that flows down from the hill toward the far end of the street, and had been all frozen in the bitter winter. I love this stream as much as I love the fresh green. I walk along it with a light heart in clear days, and the clean clear small water and the babling sound make me forget all noise and annoyance. However, I had forgotten it for a while since it became frozen and looked like dry. I wondered when it started flowing again. Just from the moment? Impossible. I should have known it because I really care it---at least I had thought so. I felt depressed. It seemed to be a fact that people enjoy happy memory for the past and dream beautiful scenes in the future, but turn a blind eye to good things that exist around all the time.
A small lifeless plant was standing alone in the stream. I remembered that I took a picture of it in one day of last summer when it was flowering. I went close to it with a little pity, but as approaching it, I surprisingly found that baby sprouts were growing in silence. All of sudden, I felt like to be moved by something invisible. What was that? The tiny little fresh green coming out from that lifeless yellow? It was definitely, but far from being the all. I knew it was the powerful life-force that people usually consider it too common to deserve mentioning. Looking up around, I noticed that snow on those evergreen tree branches looked like pear petals blowed open by spring gale overnight. The sun radiance was becoming warm, and the snow was melting away. As walking, I observed that new grasses were growing out of the withered grass mat, and buds and sprouts were growing out of naked branches of trees in front of people's houses. A clear and even close-palpable passion and love feeling was rising and filling chest. I involuntarily began to walk with great strides. In all my life, I had never figured out which one I like the best, spring as a season for recovery or autumn as a season for harvest. "Now, I know."
I climbed up the hill along the stream, trying to find the source. I went to the depths of the wood, and stopped by a small piece of wetland. I think it is where the stream begins, because no water is coming from further. Sunbeams pierced through a deep shade to slant on heavy moss, and baby grasses were coming out and spreading across a carpet of dead leaves. Water must come from the underground, so limpid that the stream bed can be clearly seen. I put hands into it—an icy cold feeling permeated immediately through the body, but I did not withdraw the hand out because it was the closest touch between me and the true nature! I could feel a happiness permeating either through the body along with the coldness. I heard, in a dead silence, birds singing in the amazing fresh green: everything was in vigor! All of sudden, I seemed like hearing a lovely peal of laughter from the Happy Buddha of my necklace, saying "See, spring is here."
Spring might never leave Saint John, but just hid at somewhere, preparing a magnificent feast to surprise people at an appropriate time. It was like a pretty but shy girl who ducked into a doorway, giggling. She does not reveal herself as passionately as her sister does in Shanghai, but uses a simple hue to create another beautiful painting in her own way. People may not see her but only sense her with whole heart.