After the east wind passes by with the winter, through the March with rouge, and meets the gradually verdant April, the wind at this time has become soft and gentle, cool and refreshing, like the hand of a lover, like the arms of a mother, stepping on a cheerful pace, spurring willow trees and protecting flowers.
The rain in April, under the guidance of the wind in April, has also become gentle, like thin threads and flower needles, which unconsciously make people's clothes dizzy and their hair wet. Sometimes it is also pattering and dripping, washing away the withered yellow of the old winter and cleaning the appearance of the new branches, dyeing the yellow-green into light green, and then coloring it with dark green, greening the hills, the fields, and that handful of loess.
The slightly cool wind disarranges the hair, and the rain like thin threads and flower needles wets the face, condensing on the tips of the shallow grass that grows everywhere, like tears, crystal clear.
Qingming, Qingming, the wind is clear and the scenery is bright, respecting the end and pursuing the distant past, this is a sad day.
In the past, in order to commemorate Jie Zitui, fire prohibition, cold food, and tomb sweeping were carried out, and the remembrance and thoughts were attached to the poems and articles that have been passed down through the ages: "The grass of the previous year has sprouted again in the spring breeze, and there was no new grave last year. The pear blossoms start from the cold food festival, and I am only worried about the remaining festivals." There is an endless sorrow.
The sadness and melancholy of Qingming are real sorrows with a real origin.
Once a year on Qingming, a year of yearning, the desolate grass piles have buried the once vivid voices and smiles, and settled in the hearts of those who come to plant willows and sweep the tombs, living in time. I don't know if there is a heaven. I only hope there is a heaven. I only hope that in heaven, the person who once made me happy, made me sad, haunted me, made me heartbroken, and was related to me by blood, and now is separated from the world and lying in that handful of loess, no longer has sorrow, no longer has pain, only peace, only a smile, a happy smile.
My mother is lying in that handful of loess, the loess is silent, the grass is silent, just lying there quietly, without a smile. I burn incense and paper, and clean the tomb, and the rain like ox hair silently wets my clothes and my hair, blurring my eyes.
Looking up, the rape flowers in April are so yellow that they are too sweet to close their mouths, and the unknown flowers and plants are growing vigorously. There is a vitality on the land in the new spring, the swaying willow trees, the winding paths, the fragrant fields, the gurgling streams, the melodious chirping of birds, and those who come to visit the tomb and enjoy the outing, some children pick the spring wheat to make flutes and blow...
Qingming, a day with deep mourning, nostalgia, but also bright and clear. Pick a bunch of wild flowers on the road and go back.