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Grandpa walked quietly beside me, a kind smile on his face as he observed his grandson's reaction.
His face bore the wrinkles of time, but his eyes remained bright and gentle, as if they could embrace everything.
Grandpa softly said, "Xiaoyuan, do you remember the poem 'Jiang Xue'?"
I nodded; Grandpa had told me about this poem before, and it left a deep impression on me.
He slowly recited, "In the thousand mountains, no birds fly, no tracks of people on the many paths. A lonely old man in a straw raincoat on a solitary boat, fishing alone in the cold river snow."
Both Grandpa and I fell silent, as if we could see that old fisherman alone on the river, fishing.
Grandpa asked me, "Do you like this poem?"
I replied, "Yes, I do. I can feel its tranquility."
Grandpa smiled and said, "Sometimes, by appreciating the poetry of ancient people, we can better feel the beauty of nature and the essence of life."
I looked up at Grandpa; his eyes were filled with wisdom and love.
I asked him, "Did that old fisherman really exist?"
Grandpa chuckled and patted my head without answering.
We continued our walk along the snowy riverside, imagining the scene of the old fisherman fishing alone as depicted in the poem, feeling the serene atmosphere of nature.
Suddenly, I pointed at the river and shouted, "Grandpa, look! It's 'Jiang Xue'!"
Following my finger, Grandpa looked out to see a small black dot on the river's surface.
As we approached to take a closer look, we discovered it was a small wooden cabin sitting on the water like a pearl embedded in white silk.
The door of the cabin was open, and inside lived an old fisherman dressed in a raincoat and wearing a conical hat.
He sat quietly in front of the cabin, holding a fishing rod and fully focused on fishing.
Grandpa and I were captivated by the tranquility and concentration of this old fisherman; we quietly stood aside without disturbing him, simply observing this beautiful scene.
The river was very calm, like a mirror reflecting the scenery of the sky above.
The sunlight shone on the river, refracting dazzling rays of light. The figure of the old fisherman appeared particularly bright under the reflection of the sun and the snowy scenery, as if he were glowing. We watched him fishing, feeling his tranquil and far-reaching state of mind. My grandfather and I remained silent, quietly appreciating this beautiful scene and absorbing the peaceful atmosphere by the riverside in winter.
We approached the old fisherman to greet him. He smiled and nodded, kindly inviting us, "It's cold outside; come in and sit for a while." My grandfather and I followed him into his small wooden cabin. Inside, it was warm, and the old fisherman poured us a cup of hot tea. We gathered around the stove, listening to him recount stories of his experiences with the river and snow.
"I really enjoy fishing on this river. The scenery here is beautiful and peaceful," the old fisherman said slowly. "I love this feeling of tranquility and distance."
"Every day I sit here, quietly waiting for the fish to bite. Sometimes, not a single fish will take the bait all day long, but that doesn't matter to me; I simply enjoy this peaceful life."
As we listened to the old fisherman's stories, my grandfather and I both felt a sense of calm and detachment. It was as if we could see the snowy river described by poets, embodying that serene and distant essence. The old fisherman's tales deeply resonated with us, allowing us to truly appreciate the tranquility and transcendence expressed in poetry.
"So this is what 'River Snow' feels like," I exclaimed. My grandfather nodded with a smile, "Yes, this poem expresses the poet's pursuit of nature and introspection."
After hearing the old fisherman's stories, I realized that even in the cold of winter, one can find warmth and joy.
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