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Every night in winter feels like a long dream. The
charcoal in the brazier flickers, about to burn out. The oiled window
paper flutters in the night breeze, humming like a peculiar instrument,
tirelessly playing the same monotonous tune. I lazily sleep through the
night, but the morning is indescribably beautiful. The glass on the
window is covered with a thick layer of frost, adorned with peculiar
shapes of flowers, plants, and trees. Sitting in front of the window
wrapped in a blanket, I wait for the arrival of the morning sun, my mind
filled with wonderful imaginings. The heavy snow blankets the forest,
but the forest, unwilling to be lonely, climbs up to the window, coming
closer and closer to us.
The air is filtered by the snow, exceptionally fresh. When I exhale
lightly, my breath immediately turns into a wisp of white mist, slowly
dissipating in the bitter cold. Footprints left by birds and animals
cover the snowy ground, resembling large characters written by children
on white paper. Although they are disorderly, they clearly imply that
there is still abundant life pulsating in the winter forest.
Sometimes, I take my black dog for a walk by the frozen river. The snow
groans beneath my feet, while the dog runs like a black arrow on the
snowy ground. On the surface of the river, there are many ice holes left
by fishermen. If the black dog is having fun, it will recklessly plunge
into an ice hole upstream and emerge from another ice hole downstream
not far away, shaking off the water and proudly carrying a big fish in
its mouth, wagging its tail. The lonely river instantly becomes lively,
with the barking of the dog and the shouts of people echoing far across
the ice.
Come to think of it, the river is not inherently lonely. The thick layer
of ice is illuminated by the sun and caressed by a gentle breeze, yet
the water still flows underneath. It doesn't know where it will
ultimately flow, just like humans cannot predict the future, but it must
continue flowing. No matter what it encounters, as long as it doesn't
stagnate, it will carry away some sand and bring forth many new
sensations.
In the final moments of winter, the river heads towards grandeur.
Whether during the day or at night, thunderous sounds resonate from the
riverbank. It is the earth-shattering roar produced when warm winds tear
apart the ice, causing the snow on the trees along the riverbanks to
fall off, revealing their true appearance. When everything settles down,
a breathtaking spectacle unfolds on the river surface: massive ice floes
collide and jostle against each other in the wide current, a display of
force that nothing can obstruct.
One morning, as I went to the river to watch the ice floes, I witnessed
a moment that will forever remain vivid in my memory. On the thawed
bank, a deer with a round, swollen belly stood on the edge of an ice
floe, burying its head in the river to drink water. Perhaps it was too
thirsty, as it didn't raise its head for several minutes. However, just
as it had finished drinking, the ice beneath its feet suddenly broke,
and in an instant, it drifted away from the shore, floating towards the
heart of the river. The deer, bewildered, spun and jumped on the ice
floe, but soon it sank into the water. My heart tightened, thinking that
its life had come to an end. However, to my surprise, the deer
resurfaced from the water, struggling to swim through the cracks in the
ice floe. It eventually reached the shore, although it managed to crawl
up onto the bank, its front legs remained kneeling, unable to stand. As
I approached, there was a puddle of black blood beneath its body. Its
swollen belly seemed empty, and I realized it was a mother deer. In a
season when it shouldn't be giving birth, it had bravely delivered its
offspring.
The fawn squirmed stubbornly beneath its mother, while she gently licked
away the blood and mucus from its body. They basked in the sunlight for
a long time. I didn't know if the fawn would survive, but I could only
hope that the sun would forever hang in the sky. In the lingering cold
of late winter, sunlight was life. |
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| 1. |
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How does the author know that "there are still many lives thriving in
the forest?" |
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What similarities does the author see between the flow
of a river and the future of a person? |
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What kind of scene did the author see that will never
fade away from their memory? |
| 4. |
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What does the winter sun represent? |
| 5. |
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What kind of emotions does the author have towards the
winter forest? |
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Answers |
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| 1. |
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The author saw scattered and chaotic footprints of wild
animals on the snowy ground, as if telling people that there is still
life actively moving in the forest. |
| 2. |
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The flow of a river eventually ends up in an unknown
destination, but it must keep flowing. Regardless of what it encounters
along the way, as long as it doesn't stagnate, it will carry away some
sand and bring about many new experiences. This is similar to how people
cannot predict the future, but time always passes, never ceasing, and
there will always be new things and changes in daily life. |
| 3. |
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The author saw a pregnant deer drinking water at the
edge of an ice floe. Suddenly, the ice cracked, and shortly after, the
deer fell into the water. It struggled to swim ashore but couldn't stand
up. The author approached and witnessed the pregnant deer giving birth
to a fawn. This is the scene that the author can never forget. |
| 4. |
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The winter sun represents life. Without the sun, all
plants and animals cannot survive. |
| 5. |
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The author has feelings of appreciation and fondness
towards the winter forest. |
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