To me, it was supposed a fine day. The sunshine in May warmly embraced the earth in her arms. It was already the time when the Spring was approaching to its end and flowers were fading away; nevertheless, in the courtyard, a tung tree was still in full blossom. The light pink flowers hung on all the branches like the windbells in a dreamland, with a silky faint fragrance filled in the air all over the yard. Out with a small chair, I seated myself leisurely under the tung flowers.
A small breeze stole in, slightly and gently at first, with the light pink flowers flying and falling softly in the light blue sky, like the elegant melodious sound of Guzheng(a kind of Chinese traditional musical instrument), and the fragrant poetic lines, and the colurful butterflies flying and dancing. I was fascinated in the scene of the dance of the falling flowers. Only after a while, however, the wind was growing stronger, scraping and swinging the beautiful dresses of tung flowers to and fro in the air, and stirring up the fallen flowers and dust spreading all over the street. Soon came down the raindrops, as big as beans, dropping onto my skin, cool and painful. I hurried back to my room and wached on the balcony. The branches were rustling in the wind and rain, and the flowers on the tree were swaying and falling in succession, which occurred to me the verse that “The wind blows the autumn leaves falling onto the ground, which again are blown up by the wind.”But at the time, I was not brought to the beautiful artistic conception but quite a pity“to appriciate the Spring till ending, only leaving a wet garment with tears.”These beautiful flowers, once gentle and lovely and voluptuous, having attracted bees and butterflies in a continuous stream, could not withstand the attack of wind and rain, falling down and scattering on the earth, and turned into spring mud with much desolation from the disappearance of flourish and the dreams fading away.
A long time passed before the rain stopped. I walked out of my room, back to the yard, seeing fallen flowers in pieces scatter here and there. I stepped over the broken flowers lightly, when I couldn’t help thinking of the sentimental mood of a poet in Song Dynasty , standing behind the curtain and chanting the verse:“A half mu of tung flowers melt a yard of the worrying rain quietly.”And a mass of melancholy fancy thronged my mind as well. After the baptism of wind and rain, the sky appeared cleaner. The few tenacious flowers left on the tung trees appeared brighter and more gorgeous. And the newly growing leaves now also looked even tender and greener. As the warm sunshine cast onto the earth again, I got feeling bright too.
The secret of flowers, I think, is to present spring with a fragrant posture, to display her born beauty at the cost of life during each life cycle, to fade away and turn into spring mud silently when conceiving fruits, and to foster new lives with the maternal gentleness. That is why flowers will whirl down so indifferently and elegantly, and smile so peacefully and tranquilly after the wind and rain.
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