Favorites in Melbourne, Australia: Flowers tend to fall when it rains at dusk

Favorites in Melbourne, Australia: Flowers tend to fall when it rains at dusk. In Victoria, where drought has lasted for many years, nectar keeps falling after winter, sometimes for four or five days. I will never forget my feelings at the beginning...

Favorites from Melbourne, Australia: Flowers tend to fall when it rains at dusk. In Victoria, where the drought has lasted for many years, nectar keeps falling after winter, sometimes for four or five days. At the beginning, I never forgot to be grateful to God for his mercy, which allowed the vast cracked yellow land to be moistened by the sweet rain. When I saw the smiling faces of the farmers in TV news reports and on the screen, I was really happy for these simple Australian farmers. In response to the drought, the state government enacted an extremely severe level three water restriction order, which was downgraded due to God's mercy. Flowers and plants can be watered from twice a week to once every other day. Recently, due to the continuous drizzle day and night, the front and back gardens of every household and the grassy slopes of the parks are wet. So why do we still need to water them? I don’t know that I am so busy in late autumn that I forget to prune the branches of the many roses in front of the garden every year so that they will bloom in spring. Or because there is insufficient absorption of nutrients in the water-reducing soil, those roses that used to thrive seem to have been destroyed; the branches are thin and the flowers are withered, like an old and twilight beauty, giving people a feeling of desolation. In the sunny season, after working hard in the study, in order to relieve the excessive fatigue of the eyes and hand muscles, I usually go to the garden to plant flowers and grass, trim them, and let the green and flowing fragrance of the garden nourish my body and mind. But these days, it's a haze outside every day, and the temperature always hovers between 5 and 11 degrees Celsius. What's terrible is the biting cold wind that blows my face. Even though my whole body is as bloated as rice dumplings, I still can't avoid the invasion of ice. Several times, I was fully equipped and wanted to go to the garden for activities as usual, but my enthusiasm was dampened by the cold wind blowing in my face. I am an optimistic person by nature, and I always look for the best in everything. Whenever I am discouraged and fail to achieve my goals, I calmly go back into the house and find some miscellaneous things to do. Or hide in the warm spring-like living room and read a newspaper. In this way, you can always pass the extra time in the cold winter. But lately I have been feeling uneasy. Looking out at the hazy outdoor space in my study, my soul seems to have been snatched away by an invisible hand. I no longer have the desire to create, my brain has become dull, and those flying inspirations have quietly disappeared without a trace. I sadly gave up typing on the keyboard and instead clicked on the web page to browse at will. Concentrating my mind on creating is something I have been practicing for many years. I wonder if it is affected by the annoying rain, or is it because I am possessed by a demon and it is difficult to just follow the flow? A racing heart is in chaos, and I can't put it back in order. Those ridiculous things I have done intentionally or unintentionally are provoking like needles; unless those who have been hurt are willing to forgive me, I will not be able to rest in peace with the burden of original sin. It reminds me of Master Yideng’s apprentice in Mr. Jin Yong’s novel who reformed his evil ways and followed his master to the snow to beg Aunt Ying for forgiveness before he could pass away in peace. This is not a story made up by the writer at will. People can deceive the heaven and the earth, and the wrong things they have done will eventually lead to their own level of failure, which is conscience. Without understanding, people are like floating on water, and they will sink at any time; if there is something on their mind, it will be difficult to concentrate, so how can they continue to create? Whether it's painting or typing on the keyboard to write an article, there is no room for hypocrisy in art. The world is far away, but those people and things are like a passing cloud. But after returning from the midnight dream, I still vividly remember it; like a movie on a screen, scenes are shown. When it is unexpected, especially in front of the withered flowers and leaves in the garden, it suddenly crosses my heart, and the traces are as obvious as the marks left on white paper. Can't wash it away, can't wipe it off, unless the wrong and ridiculous thing is forgiven? No matter how long we have to wait for this moment, we must look forward to it. Just like Aunt Ying does not nod, the monk who has changed his evil ways and became a monk is struggling to his death and does not dare to die rashly. Being alive and turning into a walking corpse is more painful than death. The only reason why people cannot make mistakes is that they still have a "conscience" that cannot be deceived. Otherwise, society will inevitably be in chaos, and as long as this individual heart is still beating, it cannot be deceived. In the evening in front of the court, the drizzle fell intermittently like weeping, as if there were endless sorrows in the world, one after another that wanted to accuse. The cold rain sometimes swept across and sometimes fell straight down, unintentionally destroying the rose petals, and the fallen flowers caught the eye in all their glory. Before five o'clock, the darkness had already fallen, the street lights came on in no time, and the sky was as dark and silent as my state of mind. The faded fragrance, that tolerant smile often floats in front of my eyes, mocking my lonely figure... (Note: The title of my essay "Flowers fall easily from rain to dusk" is borrowed from Lu You's ex-wife Tang Wan's poem The Hairpin-Headed Phoenix.) It was a bitter winter in Melbourne in August 2011.