Reading the Cold Rain in Early Spring
Silently, down fell the cold rain in early spring. The rain in Qingrning triggered off little ripples in my heart. Chasing her, I could only catch her voice, softly and gently calling my name. I rushed to the window only to find nothing because there was no light in the little room. No lamp, no moon, no stars. I was the only one hanging up till midnight to meet her who was now falling lonely with nothing to reflect her transparent beauty.
Fluently went her songs, without impatience. No thunder was pushing her down. Then, she flew leisurely, sprinkling little diamonds in the sky or onto the ground, and even didn't for get to wash my little plants. How careful she was! The black sky was washed, just like a mirror or a piece of marble. It seemed that water would come out if you touched it. Surrounding me was the cleaned air with a fresh smell, as pure as water,as elegant as white lily.
I knew she was coming. I knew it from the overcast sky,from the moisture in the wind. The moist air and clothes also wet my heart. I was waiting for her. Then she came, quietly and chilly on this cold spring night. I won. I won the happiness that could not be shared. Few people could read this eternal melody when small raindrops hit the ground.
Ah! I nearly forgot my flowers that had just begun their lives in light pink or white, not beautiful but really lovely. Were they still alive? Or, were they now shaking their slim bodies in freezing water, bearing the beating of the rain, and calling me to save them? Soon the songs of rain calmed me down. It was unnecessary to be pitiful for them, as their souls were cleaned, and now rose up to the heaven. The most beautiful memory of a flower was not her blossom, but the journey in the air leaving the branches, flying with the wind and eventually falling to the ground. It was where the ci