Does the earth have ears?
Have.
I believe there is because the mother said it has.
The mother said vividly: “There are many interesting things happening every day in the world. When the earth is curious, the long ears are extended to the ground to listen.”
Does the cloud in the sky have eyes?
Have.
I believe there is because the mother said it has.
The mother said in a stern way: “The kind cloud, there is a pair of eyes that look at the autumn. It floats in the sky, and when it sees things that are not fair or unhappy, it will shed tears. We tear this tears. Called for rain.”
Does the ocean have a mouth?
Have.
I believe there is because the mother said it has.
The mother said eloquently: “The mouth of the ocean is big and wide. It likes to sing. When it sings, Haitao wears a lace-up skirt and dances in one fell swoop. The seagull, listen. Into the gods, fascinated, hovering above the ocean.”
Does the volcano have a nose?
Have.
I believe there is because the mother said it has.
The mother said with a stroke: “The volcanic temper is extremely bad. When it is angry, the round nostrils will burst out with a white smog. At this time, people have to run far, because ah. This is a prelude to its thunder. After that, it will shoot out the flames and spray out the lava. Those who are too lazy to run or run fast enough will be burned to death!”
Are there any hands and feet in the trees?
Have.
I believe there is because the mother said it has.
The mother spit in her eyes and said: “The root of the tree is its foot, the branch is its hand. You don’t want to step on its feet, let alone twist its hand, it will hurt!”
The story that my mother made up with the mouth, put a pair of beautiful wings on my imagination, and took me to fly. In the era when the sound and entertainment was scarce, it gave me a simple heart, so that I could fully bathe in the childlike fun brought by the story. When I first passed the pen and ink and fell into the alcoholic wine brewed by the words, I suddenly realized that the tension of the spoken language is far less than the text.
The story of the dictation is very interesting, but the height of its ability to fly is limited, and the space for thinking is limited. The world of words, like the continuous wind, strong wind, can bring you to the clouds. I don’t know where you are, let you cry, laugh, laugh, and not be independent, let you ruminate, let you think, and let your imagination expand to the limit without any restrictions.
Since then, I have been obsessed with the text and it is difficult to extricate myself.
If the text is rice, I am a mouse; if the text is mulberry, I am a spring silkworm; if the text is a fallen leaf, I am a wind; if the text is a pond, I am a koi.
Today, the text has become my oxygen.
Nowadays, children don’t believe that the earth has ears, clouds have eyes, the ocean has mouths, volcanoes have noses, and trees have hands and feet.
I don’t believe it because their mother is too busy to tell the story and mood.
I don’t believe it because the flood of information prematurely punctuated their childish dreams.
A precocious child lives boringly in a dreamless age.