Bustling January

January has come and the weather is still chilly every morning, with thick dew covering the leaves. The sky brightens very slowly. It seems that the January sun is lazy to wake up early, every day it takes until after six o'clock before it starts to rise from the east.

And the wind. In this area, January is the time when the north wind is blowing. The north wind sweeps across the fields and blows into the house, making this and that shake, blowing this and that. After playing around enough, the uninvited guest quickly leaves, leaving the homeowner to shake his head in resignation. What can he do? It's hot when the door is closed, cool when the door is open, and he has to clean up after himself.

Perhaps January is halfway between winter and spring so the weather is quite nice. The sun is not harsh yet, just starting to turn yellow. The sky is starting to clear blue, reflecting the trees, fields, and herds of cows leisurely grazing. The picture of January is heartbreakingly beautiful. I have looked at the blue of the sky a few times and wondered how to mix that blue. The color is both blue and clear and strangely cheerful. Is it that color that urges the swallows to flap their wings and dance and sing every afternoon? Looking at the wings fluttering, one wing nestled in another, covering the entire sky in black, it is very pleasing to the eye. I want to ask the swallows, what is so joyful, fluttering forever with those small wings without getting tired. Perhaps the swallows will answer that we are dancing the dance of the changing seasons to celebrate the return of the emerald sky. Yes, in this life, joy is everywhere, there is no need to look far, knowing how to be satisfied, knowing how to be happy with what is present is happiness.

Perhaps the changes in the world also make people feel excited, so every night the streets are more crowded than usual. The shops along both sides of the street are decorated with colored lights, the Christmas trees are still bright, the green pine wreaths are still hung on the entrances, the only difference is that now the glass doors are covered with yellow apricot flowers and the cheerful spring music makes people's hearts also excited and excited. While driving and humming along to a bustling melody of spring, my heart suddenly bursts with joy, strangely loving life. So I decided to walk around the city just to breathe in the bustling air waiting for spring. The river at night is as soft as a young girl's hair, with countless sparkling lights that melt many dreamy hearts. Couples of lovers walk hand in hand along the embankment, the girl's hair flutters in the wind, they laugh and talk to each other about something that seems very happy, so her lips always smile. Occasionally the girl raises her hand to brush away a few strands of hair that the wind accidentally blew into her face. She looks so graceful.

Whenever I go to the city, I sit and drink coffee by the riverbank, watching the water tower quietly standing on the other side, reflecting itself on the river, strangely patient. Even at night, when the flower garden is full of children playing, with loud, bustling music, the water tower still silently reflects itself on the river, standing there majestically. I don't know why, but every time I look at the water tower, I see a gentle smile, exactly like the smile of a mother looking at her children. That smile is so tolerant. It's true, the tower has gone through many ups and downs in life, has become a symbol of this city, a mother's perspective is always different from that of a child. So when I'm tired, disappointed, bored, I often silently look at the tower. The tolerant eyes, the patient posture have made me realize that this life inherently has both dark and bright sides, success and failure, accepting both with a calm mind will naturally bring peace to my heart.

So in January, I look for very small joys. Like a weekend morning lying on the grass watching the white clouds drift across the deep blue sky, wondering where the remaining white clouds of the old season will fly to. Maybe the clouds go to sleep in spring like a hibernating bear, leaving the blue sky for the world to admire, then when spring passes, they stretch and wake up to wander everywhere. That thought makes me laugh with delight. Pick a blade of grass, weave it into a ring to wear on your hand, remembering the time when I was a child, making rings, necklaces, and wreaths to play with my friends. So my whole childhood comes rushing back, bringing with it the cheerful laughter and bright faces of my friends. Memories flash through my head like a slow-motion movie. I laugh to myself like a madman when I remember those unique pranks.

So joy followed me from the fields back home. Joy burst into a soft song. Joy burst into a soft, clear voice instead of the usual screams. Joy became something very strangely gentle.

I welcomed January with very small joys.

January smiles, letting out teasing wisps everywhere.

And so spring comes…

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