风的信笺
华侬农（上官）
2025.10.19.京
蝉鸣的尾音刚坠落在青石板上，你便携着一身凉意来了。
你是天空遣来的邮差，把云絮叠成轻薄的信笺，掠过屋檐时，抖落半树细碎的金黄。老槐树的叶子早候着你，顺着你的指尖旋舞，像一群写满心事的蝴蝶，落在行人肩头，又滑进砖缝里的光阴。
你轻吻稻浪的额角，让饱满的穗粒垂下谦逊的头颅，田野便漾起琥珀色的涟漪。果园里，你悄悄为苹果抹上胭脂，给橘子披上橙红的纱衣，连枝头的柿子都被你逗得红了脸，悬在叶间像盏盏小灯笼。
暮色里，你穿过老巷，叩响每一扇窗棂。晾衣绳上的衬衫晃着晃着，就有了阳光残留的温度；窗台上的陶罐，盛着你带来的桂香，细嗅时，仿佛能触到月亮的清辉。
你从不是匆匆的过客，只是把夏的热烈酿成秋的沉静，把散落的故事，缝进每一片被染透的叶子里。待第一场霜来前，你会轻轻拂过沉睡的土地，埋下一个关于春的梦。
A Letter from the Wind
By Huanongnong (Shangguan)
October 19, 2025, Beijing
The final trill of the cicadas had just settled on the bluestone slab when you arrived, wrapped in a cool breeze.
You are a postman sent by the sky, folding clouds into thin letters. As you brush past the eaves, you shake down a shower of golden fragments from the trees. The old locust tree's leaves have long awaited you, swirling along your fingertips like a flock of butterflies filled with thoughts—they land on passersby's shoulders, then slip into the time hidden in the cracks of bricks.
You kiss the brow of the rice waves, making the plump ears bow their humble heads, and the fields ripple with amber light. In the orchard, you quietly daub rouge on the apples, drape tangerines in crimson veils, and even tease the persimmons on the branches until they blush, hanging among the leaves like little lanterns.
In the twilight, you drift through the old alleyways, tapping on every window lattice. The shirts on the clothesline sway, gradually retaining the lingering warmth of the sun; the earthen jar on the windowsill holds the osmanthus fragrance you brought—when you inhale softly, it feels as if you can touch the clear radiance of the moon.
You are never a hasty traveler. You merely brew the passion of summer into the tranquility of autumn, and sew scattered stories into every dyed leaf. Before the first frost arrives, you will gently brush the sleeping earth, burying a dream of spring.
