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banana language

  Walking under the plantain forest, the bright light in May gradually became dim. The plantains are like countless paddles, spread out in all directions, blocking the sun that pours down. People walking under the forest feel safe and sheltered, the wind blows, and the scorching sun blocks them.
  In the world, many growing leaves are extremely fine, and they are very delicately modified by the hands of the creator, as if they were cut out after thousands of overlapping layers-the painstaking craftsmanship can be seen at a glance, such growth makes the days become Delicate, very delicate and elegant. For example, Mimosa, this shy little flower, whether it is its rice grain-sized leaves or pink flower buds, is filled with incomparable care. You can win admiration from any angle you choose. It must be the fine brushwork of God in his spare time to achieve such perfection in details. Naturally, compared with Basho, it can be seen that the creator’s hand is bold and bold, with three strokes and two strokes, and the plain, simple shape and true color are suddenly visible.
  The children under the plantain forest ran in the forest, shuttled without hesitation, and bumped into soft tree trunks when turning from time to time. They covet the huge clusters of fruit and think of the day when they will ripen. Food and drink, our labor, and hard work all day, if not hypocritical, are for this simple satisfaction. These children grew up, and the simple satisfaction continued. The life and death of plantains is endless, and the hope of harvest is also ups and downs, so that the laborers dare not be romantic.
  I found the beauty of plantains from paper. Many poignant memories are tied to a plantain leaf. Basho resists the wind, but welcomes the rain. In the humid south, the bright and crystal rain falls from the long sky, is carried by the broad leaves, washes away the fine dust, and is emerald green in the wet. So far, what is puzzling is that it is silent under the sun, and no one will pay attention to its existence, but when the rain comes, the intersection of raindrops and banana leaves makes people extend their daydreams for no reason and revive their true feelings. Is there a hidden mystery of how to respond to such a poignant effect? In the hearts of sentimental literati, plantains, like withered lotus, Shutong, evening cicada, evening crow, and smoked willow, are all things that worry about people. It is conceivable that when the night rain comes, there are one or two plantains in the courtyard, and under the window of Xiaoxuan, how many sensitive ears are open, listening to the beating light or heavy, clear or muddy, thinking about the scholar’s mind. In my opinion, people at that time have a first-class degree of sentimentality, “Talking once, sighing three times”. Many aesthetic feelings born of sorrow spread in the night. A person full of worries is misfortune in the definition of life; but for future generations, the century-old crystallization of these melancholy has turned into a lot of poetry.
  The rain, the night I stayed, magically fell. The dense and firm raindrops were received by the swaying banana leaves, turned into loud sounds, and then entered the mud layer. I extinguished the lights, sat down by the window, and caught tick-tock. To my ears, this is a very solid sound, as tough as a bean. Later, I fell asleep. When the sun was shining, a few remnant stars rolled down from the upper leaves, flashing bright spots. I think this is a completely natural phenomenon, and I can’t hear the sentimentality, nor can it evoke the sorrow of parting. It seems hard to imagine that at that time, scholars had so much leisure time, besides blue lanterns and yellow scrolls, composing poems, just sitting and watching the clouds rise, lying down and listening to the rain of bananas, sensitively capturing the shadows and sounds of nature, and their moods swaying, Like clear water, on the back of the broad leaves, there is a poignant and crystal clear arc.
  The sky was bright, the atmosphere of the earth was rising, and the sound of raindrops falling on the banana leaves became very faint. As if turning over overnight, that page was also hidden deep in the darkness. A very simple fact is that the sentimentality and sorrow splashed out by tick tock have also been completely collected.

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