Library

Xi Chuang Xiao Yin This thin volume of text is nestled between the four characters "The west window is close at hand". The west window is a stop for gaze. The ordinary wooden lattice frames the flowing clouds, the sounds of the market, and the shadows of returning birds' wings. It gives me the distance to observe quietly, allowing me to carefully discern the trembling rhythm of the flower seller's pole, and the glimmer of morning dew supported by the cobwebs on the corners of the eaves. The art of prose begins with the pious picking up of light particles in the dust - what you see through the window is the most authentic expression of the fireworks in the world. However, the word "close" creates a deep ravine in the closeness. The faces of passers-by outside the window are clear, but their joys and sorrows are as if they are separated by heavy fog; the ink marks on old letters are still warm, and I want to write them again, but thousands of words are choked behind "seeing the words as if they were faces". This tension between "near" and "far" turns out to be the eternal puzzle of life. The pen describes the moss marks on the stone steps of the hometown and a stem of white hair under my mother's lamp. What the words can touch is just a thin silhouette of time cast on the wall of memory. The real warmth and sighs end up on the far bank of the river. The west window then becomes the lens of the soul. When the twilight soaked into the window paper, the dormant dust in my heart suddenly appeared. Writing is like holding a candle, using this square inch of skylight to illuminate the dark paths and abyss of the heart valley. Those distant places that are difficult to reach and longings that are difficult to express find temporary shelter in the words. This book is just a tiny coordinate cast by a person leaning on the window on the flow of time - using the window lattice as a ruler to measure the warmth and coolness of the world; using words as a boat to swim across the horizon of the heart and soul. I hope you can touch the cool wood grain of the window frame between the pages, and the warmth that has never cooled down under the wood grain.