When we exposure to broad historical time and space and broad geographical environment, the writer should be in what position? Balji Yuanye gave the best answer in his prose. With his distinctive characteristics and very individual expression, he has formed a unique “unique” among contemporary prose writers. His writings are all songs of songs dedicated to the grassland and the earth. He has a natural love for the earth and a nuanced experience, such as a magnifying glass, every leaf, insect and weed can focus his gaze on discovery. His prose has a strong sense of picture and music, and his language is fresh and agile, with rhythm and tension. It not only praises the nature that nurtures all things, but also contains the author’s profound thinking and wisdom. Reading his works, you can’t help but follow him into nature, experience the spring and autumn of human beings and creatures, the vicissitudes of life, feel the mysterious echo of man and the earth, and awaken people’s piety and awe of nature and the universe. The final destination of this short essay, in his extremely delicate and restrained description, did he also read out the deep feelings that he did not say?
The piano, the doors and windows in the country, the bench, the wooden fish in the temple, the predecessor of these things is the same thing-a tree.
When it grows, people call it a tree. After the tree leaves the ground, it is called a wood, called a huanghuali wood bed, called a red sandalwood chess board, and called the handle of the stir-fried horse spoon.
When the wood was in the trees, the body was covered with green leaves and dew, and it was the home of the birds. When the torrential rain like a white arrow passed diagonally, the tree rushed like rain. The rain splashed out at the feet of the trees, and the trees reflected light like raincoats. The trees ran until a wild flower appeared in front of them.
The leaves make the tree plump like a big bird. The tree spent the happiest time in the woods.
When I was young, there was a sawmill to the east of my house. Every day there was the sound of electric saws, including the lingering noise of electric saws after the wood was sawed through. I have heard this sharp sound since I was three or four years old. When I was seven or eight years old, I visited the factory with the children in the family yard. The square wood pile that saw the white stubble is three stories high, giving you the hallucinations, as if you have become an ant looking up at the matchstick in the matchbox. The yard is full of the scent of pine resin, and the red scales of pine trees are piled on the ground. Now think about it, in a small sawmill in my hometown, pine squares of half a meter wide, half a meter high, and ten meters long are piled up like a mountain. Such thick pine trees can grow between five hundred and one thousand years. How rich it is! I have never seen pine wood so thick since I grew up. Five or six workers lifted one end of the pine wood onto the operating table. The workers pushed the pine wood against the chainsaw with their stomachs, “squeak–” the chainsaw screamed weirdly, and the rosin aroma became stronger. I think the wood sawing workers are suffering from addictive diseases. When they see all the trees, they want to use their stomachs and shoulders against the chainsaw to turn the round trees into white stubble and textured squares. Not far from the piles of square materials, is a railway line, and wood is transported from here to everywhere.
The tree does not know which part of himself becomes a door. After this part of the tree becomes the door, it becomes the most important member of a family. It is called the door, and it opens and closes. The door has been far away from the forest for a long time, and the green leaves and dew will never come again. There is a lock on the door and glass, no one remembers that it was once a tree, a part of the tree. The pattern of annual rings on the door is covered with lacquer, and the pattern recalls the green shade of the forest in the darkness of lacquer.
Some trees are turned into pianos, and only a small piece of wood is used to make piano rods and resonance boxes. The piano is the most literary way out, expressing and listening to the music. In the infinite combination of five whole tones and two semitones of the scale, the wood of the piano body hears the pain and happiness of the world. The melody made them lose their way and forget everything about the forest. The different trees make the sound of the piano bright, resentful, contemplative, and passionate. Looking at the wooden board with a magnifying glass, it is an infinite dome, like a honeycomb, with countless small resonance boxes hidden.
Muyu is a magical instrument of the temple. The fish keeps their eyes open day and night, and the monks make castanets with woodcarved fish, which is a reminder to avoid fatigue. Muyu’s voice is remote and exquisite, another kind of clapper. After the tree became a fish, it swam around in the still water of the temple with sound.
