秋颂

　　秋天的美，美在一份明澈。

　　有人的眸子像秋，有人的风神像秋。

　　代表秋天的枫树之美，并不仅在那经霜的素红;而更在那临风的飒爽。

　　当叶子逐渐萧疏，秋林显出了它们的秀逸。那是一份不需任何点缀的洒脱与不在意俗世繁华的孤傲。

　　最动人是秋林映着落日。那酡红如醉，衬托着天边加深的暮色。晚风带着清澈的凉意，随着暮色浸染，那是一种十分艳丽的凄楚之美，让你想流几行感怀身世之泪，却又被那逐渐淡去的醉红所慑住，而情愿把奔放的情感凝结。

　　曾有一位画家画过一幅霜染枫林的《秋院》。高高的枫树，静静掩住一园幽寂，树后重门深掩，看不尽的寂寥，好像我曾生活其中，品尝过秋之清寂。而我仍想悄悄步入画里，问讯那深掩的重门，看其中有多少灰尘，封存着多少生活的足迹。

　　最耐寻味的秋日天宇的闲云。那么淡淡然、悠悠然，悄悄远离尘间，对俗世悲欢扰攘，不再有动于衷。

　　秋天的风不带一点修饰，是最纯净的风。那么爽俐地轻轻掠过园林，对萧萧落叶不必有所眷顾——季节就是季节，代谢就是代谢，生死就是生死，悲欢就是悲欢。无需参预，不必留连。

　　秋水和风一样的明澈。“点秋江，白鹭沙鸥”，就画出了这份明澈。没有什么可忧心、可紧张、可执著。“傲杀人间万户侯，不识字烟波钓叟。”秋就是如此的一尘不染。

　　“闲云野鹤”是秋的题目，只有秋日明净的天宇间，那一抹白云，当得起一个“闲”字。野鹤的美，澹如秋水，远如秋山，无法捉摸的那么一份飘潇，当得起一个“逸”字。“闲”与“逸”，正是秋的本色。

　　也有某些人，具有这份秋之美。也必须是这样的人，才会有这样的美。这样的美来自内在，他拥有一切，却并不想拥有任何。那是由极深的认知与感悟所形成的一种透澈与洒脱。

　　秋是成熟的季节，是收获的季节，是充实的季节，却也是澹泊的季节。它饱经了春之蓬勃与夏之繁盛，不再以受赞美、被宠爱为荣。它把一切的赞美与宠爱都隔离在澹澹的秋光外，而只愿做一个闲闲的、远远的、可望而不可即的，秋。

　　In Praise of Autumn

　　Luo Lan

　　The beauty of autumn lies partly in its clarity.

　　Some people have a pair of autumn-like eyes, and others have an autumn bearing.

　　The beauty of Chinese sweet gum that represents the autumn season lies not only in its frost-bitten and plain red colour, especially in its valiantness in the wind.

　　When leaves gradually become thinly scattered, autumn reveals its elegance. It is a part of its freedom and ease that is unnecessary of any embellishment and its proud and aloof air that requires no worldly prosperity.

　　However, the most charming scene is the autumn woods when shone upon by the setting sun! The intoxicating flushing red sets off the gradually-deepened evening glow in the sky, and the clear coolness brought about by evening breeze slowly dies in the quiet charm in the desolation of dusk glow. At this, you can’t help but shed some strings of tears in recollection, and then are submitted to the gradually fading flushing red. Thus, you are only too willing to still your overflowing feelings and let them freeze.

　　There was once an artist who painted a picture of “Autumn Yard”, showing some tall, frost-bitten Chinese sweet gums, which were quietly shielding the seclusion of the yard. Behind the woods, the gates were deeply concealed. What an endless loneliness! It seemed as if I had once lived and tasted the solitude of the autumn season here. But I still want to stealthily step into this painting to call the deeply-concealed gates and see how much grey dust has piled there and how many traces of life are hidden away.

　　The thing which gives man most food for thought is the leisure in autumn clouds. As they drift away from the human world, they are so pale, so calm and silent, so indifferent to the worldly sadness and happy outcries.

　　The autumn wind is the purest – without a trace of decoration. When it sweeps across the garden woods, it is so light and brisk, not sentimentally attached to the shower after shower of falling leaves. Seasons are after all seasons, suppression is suppression, life and death are life and death and, joys and sorrows are joys and sorrows. There is no need for interference or nostalgia.

　　The autumn water is as clear as the wind. “White egret and sandy gull are enough to embellish autumn river,” is a vivid description of this part of autumn clarity. There is nothing to worry about, feel nervous about or stick to. “So proud and aloof before the marquis with ten thousand households, an old illiterate man fishes in a mist-covered water.” Autumn is exactly like this, spotless.

　　“Leisure clouds and wild cranes” is one topic of autumn. It is only a smidgen of white cloud in the clear autumn sky that can be worthy of the name “leisure”. The beauty of the wild crane is pale as the autumn water, distant as the autumn hills, and that part of the elusive, unrestrained elegance is worthy of the name “elegance”. “Leisure” and “elegance” are just enough to embody the nature of autumn.

　　Some people possess such autumn beauty and nobody but such men can possess such beauty. Such beauty comes from within. He owns everything yet wants nothing. It is a clarity and openness formed through a very comprehensive cognition and understanding.

　　Autumn is the season for maturity, the season of harvest. It is the season of being fruitful and also the season of being indifferent to everything as well. It has experienced the vitality of spring and fanfare of summer. It will no longer take pleasure in being praised and indulge in love. It sets all the praise and love outside its own pale sense and is willing to be in peacefulness and quietness, which can neither be held or possessed…Autumn.

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