Went to St Petersburg. As a Russian proverb goes: "It is better to read the words describing St. Petersburg seven times than to see the city with your own eyes."
Indeed, it was a worthwhile visit. She is dazzlingly beautiful. The Neva, the Nevsky Prospect, the Winter Palace, the Summer Palace, the cruiser Aurora, Peter the Great, Catherine, Pushkin, Gogol, etc., all these real and historical scenes and names, together Overlapping into colorful and blurred memories. Even the boundless green sea-like trees I saw on the way to St. Petersburg fascinated me.
That time, my family of three set off from Moscow. The train is a very comfortable "Red Arrow". Four-person box. Our company is a Russian young man, polite and polite. Much of the 700-kilometer journey took place in the dark. I especially like to listen to the rhythmic friction of the wheels and the rails, which is monotonous but like a warm lullaby. When I woke up, it was dawn. Unexpectedly, I was suddenly attracted by the continuous picture scroll-like emerald green outside the window.
Far and near green, high and low green, layered green, deep and light green. Our vision is covered with green. We are tightly surrounded by green. We meander carefully through the green. Looking at the battle in front of him, it seems that there is no hope of breaking through. In fact, we are willing to be surrounded like this.
We were amazed by such a lush virgin forest, and at a loss as to what to do with such a wild lush greenery. It is the kind of dark green, green with no clue, green with turbulence, green with vitality. More because it just rained, bathed in the rain and soaked in the rain, the green is extraordinarily endearing.
Because most of the journey is in the dark, we only see the last part of the road after dawn. In fact, according to local friends, the whole journey from Moscow to St. Petersburg is like this, and even the whole of Russia is like this. Russia is a vast country with abundant resources. Forests can be seen almost everywhere. How much charm does she add to you!
It is no wonder that many Russian literary masters from ancient times to the present have always been fond of describing forests in their works, because forests are an important part of Russian life and even life. Without the forest, there will be no vivid background; without the forest, there will be no wonderful story; without the forest, there will be no charming and delicate charm. Forests and Russian literature have an indissoluble bond.
Is it not? From Turgenev's "Hunter's Notes", "The Woods and the Steppe" to Leo Tolstoy's "Anna Karenina", from Gogol's "Dead Souls" to Chekov's "Sarah" Harlem's Travels", from Lipatov's "Igor Savovich" to Gorky's "My University"... How many classic chapters describing the forest in their works, in fact, I just casually Just to name a few works!
When they describe the forest, they are always full of nostalgia and fascination, and you will be deeply infected, if nothing else, just the names of the various trees and flowers are dazzling: red pine, spruce, fir, fir, birch , rowan, hazel, oak, linden, ash, aspen, elderberry, mountain red, meadowsweet, violet, lily of the valley, clover, buckwheat, wormwood, milk mushroom, coriander, chestnut, Acorn mushrooms, Venus flyweeds, red berries, blackberries...
Of course, we must not forget that there are many Russian landscape painters who are also keen to use forests as the subject. The famous Levitan, Kuinzhi, Shishkin... are The masters of depicting Russian forests vividly and meticulously depict the myriad atmospheres of the forests, and their wonderful works have also become classics handed down to the world.
Now, it's time for me to talk about birch. On the train, slices of birch forests come into view from time to time, and its unique demeanor may affect my thoughts the most. Russians have a soft spot for it, and it is a symbol of the Russian nation. I have always believed that there are no beautiful trees in nature, and birches are especially beautiful. They can be said to be the handsome girl among the trees.
I was ignorant, and I finally got to know the birch tree on this trip. In terms of appearance, they can be roughly divided into two types: one is the most common tall and straight type, tall and slender, with a straight waist. Like a heroic and stalwart man; the other is a soft and beautiful type, not necessarily tall, but with many branches and leaves, the canopy of the tree is soft and graceful, like smoke and mist, like a dream, it looks a bit delicate and graceful. These two kinds of birches have something in common, the trunks are white, like a layer of autumn frost like silver, and the holes on the top, like countless eyes, are very unique, you will never compare them with Other trees are confused.
A few years ago, while working in London, I stumbled across a small birch forest next to the Tate Gallery on the south bank of the Thames, which brightened my eyes because I have always loved this tree. However, those dozens of white birch trees were artificially planted in horizontal and vertical rows. Compared with the large and random white birch forest in Russia, it seemed a little artificial and not enough momentum.
All in all, savoring the Russian forest on the train to St. Petersburg, and getting me drunk by the boozy greens, was definitely a feast for the eyes. My strong feeling is that of envy, even a bit of jealousy. I thought to myself, it would be great if my country could be like this everywhere.
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