Sound that the flower falls
Sound that the flower falls
Having grown roses in the family, how many days, just when in the dead of night, heard the sound that the flower falls. It is of the trial at first “ Pa ” ,Like a drop of rain makes in the tabletop, and then, ” whip ” of coming in a continuous stream In, the countless butterflies hit by a bullet are from falling from high altitude down one after another.
Very getting quiet in that time night, a quiet one listen to one’s own breath like tide to listen attentively to fluctuations, the whole person is hung in midair by the sound that the flower falls, vertical ears, hear so as to startle a surprise one.
Get up early, to fall, spend quiet to lie in there full desk, safe quiet to let people to be really unable to believe, he had once gone through like that for a soul-stirring night.
Even the petal of the rose falls, still lives bright-coloredly, still have a feel of a kind of lipoprotein, gloss and warmth of the satin. I do not believe at all this is a corpse spent, do not always allow mothers to clean up. See they crowdedness to break away from end of the branch, freedom unfolded to lie, there, seem than cluster round at the end of the branch, one kind offers as a gift independent beauty generation even more.
This world, seem to hear the sound that the flower falls every day.
The flower as soft and elegant like cherry, pear, peach, I never leave their thanking to regard as a kind of death. They just called out lightly in in wind, awareness was once winged angel to oneself, they try to shake off the end of the branch, try to fly, the gentle one flies out. . . . . .
There is a kind of flower that makes me fear. He without forethought, have any omen, make no adequate defense room, wilful whole whole, crudely and rashly, no person in charge, roll and roll mediocrely, really let people tremble with fear. Have ever grown a bottle of camellias, it is so shocking a death law. I am old and astonished, afraid the camellia from then on, afraid of her extreme and fiery and forthright.
Only township wild kinds of light daisy that, turn on thing publicize, thank too implicit and silent. To it withers to be storm it, come after deciding to come, it just still quiet to afford to make warm, unless become thin a little, the wan and sallow in a little,then not betray nothing in expression and movements at winter in being the bleak, always go with whole season.
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