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◉ 天一阁（中国)

语叶丁香

作者：白丁

何必听林语？秋来望丁香。

每年秋天，都会在丁香丛呆上好长一段时间，蜗居也好，逃避也罢，更好听的解释，应该叫休闲。

休闲，只是一种托词，真实的生活意识，是聆听丁香叶语。

丁香又名百结，叶似茉莉，花有紫白两种，初春开花，四月吐芳，花形细小似雀舌，蓓蕾生在枝杪之间，花瓣稍柔，色泽鲜嫰，芬菲袭人，畏湿而耐寒。记得唐陆龟蒙在描写丁香时有这样的诗句："江上悠悠人不问，十年云外醉中身。殷勤解却丁香结，纵放繁枝散诞春。"

也许，陆龟蒙的“殷勤”只是为了“香结”和“纵放”，其实，丁香的意味并不只在她的芬飞，我常常喜欢她的叶语。

四月，当燕尾从南国飘来的时候，丁香开始吐苞含翠，若有几天春雨，暖风一吹，叶瓣在得意之中会快速展开，片片翠意迎风招摇，此时的叶语在风中细嫰而娇微，象四五岁的女孩咿呀细语，也不排除在春天成长主流中对阳光世界的热爱。

当融雪叹息地完全离去之后，丁香的小叶开始长大，叶缘饱满圆润，叶尖细短可人，季风到来，轻恬语响，完全变成二八芳龄的少女盈盈而谈。这时，叶间的“雀舌”开始含苞吐蕾，绽放清香，香气轻洁飘逸，整个丛中的声音，可谓天上人间。

喜鹊和布谷们常来丛中寻求觅食的消息，云雀振动着翅膀停在天空，忽然俯冲直下，眨眼飞进丛中不见踪影，只能听到逆耳的啾啁声，特别粗俗而聒噪。这时，才会想到唐代陆龟蒙为什么写出“十年云外醉中身”诗意，恍然觉得，唐人的身境是大有一番诗意的。

住在别墅，四月的气流带着东南的暖湿，将西北的燥冷直挤到山的那边。每天早晨推窗望去，一层轻薄的雾气飘在丁香丛中，这时，丁香仍在安静轻睡，叶上细小水珠在晨照的光辉中透明且轻微晃动，丁香叶语，只等风来。

我并不关心炫灿灿的黄榆在叶语前会有怎样的前奏，也不去问津山桃、槭树的叶上会不会在风中掀起动人的声谱，偶尔，在赋牍之中忽又想起金时元好问的一阙："香中人道睡香浓，谁信丁香臭(嗅)味同。一树百枝千万结，更应熏染费春工。”  可见，中国史上大大咧咧的金人，也对丁香情有独钟，但他们却从不知道，与丁香最接近的沟通办法是聆听叶语，元好问不知费了多少春工，只能在《瓶赋》中偷取一些丁香的味道和姿态，对于丁香叶语，却从未倾听。

六月，雨气丰来。丁香的北面是一带山峦。暖气流爬升的时候，常常会洒下一些多情的地形雨。顶着雨润，常常在丁香丛出神。灌满躯体的市井噪杂，在丁香丛中完全可以由叶语取代。六月的丁香叶上，覆满安慰，叶色由鲜翠而碧绿，叶语也变得成熟而大气。有时在雨滴的撞击中，叶语如潮奔涌，站在丛中，仿佛听到千枝万叶的绿色从叶际泻出，清洗并驱赶着狂躁的胸心，阻止了商事的争斗，浇灭了许多因被逼而反复燃起的生计阴谋，沉浸在多雨的丁香丛，叶语的倾诉，告诉你在红尘之外仍有另一种道场：自然、放逐、不闻不问和随遇而安。常常希望通过聆听丁香叶语，在生计的瑟索中找到一些阅读人生的理念，或者，在起伏的情趣中，寻求一种能够走进开阔势力的广袤视野，以此领略自然生活的许多乐章，但往往取法于听，仅得其声；取法于看，仅得其翠碧；取法于闻，仅得其清香。于是，在2012年3月，约朋友三五在别墅的丁香丛中，将几株丁香移栽到闹市的宅门前，以济日日倾听叶语。每到子夜，月光从窗外照进来，斑驳的叶影晃动在窗台上，推窗望月便不再有孤苦零丁，丁香叶在月下发出轻轻细碎的倾诉，颇有“月光照夜厅，叶语歌幽静”（自白丁短诗）的感觉。

许多时候，一些太死板的沉寂，只要想一丁点儿盎然生机的办法，一边闻香，一边聆听，于是，流经的岁月中都会覆满芬芳，再孤独的心境也会江山再造，充满诗情画意。

历年九月，许多花草绿叶开始忧然众谢的时候，丁香的叶色却煞是美丽。一片一片的圆叶上，泛出幽绿的世界，清楚地暗示人们什么叫生命的顽强与延续奔放，无数的碧叶在瑟瑟秋风中迎风摇曵，漫步丛中，可以在万物凋零中率意地享受绿叶的丰腴和叶语的甜美，周围所有的凋落会枯意顿减。那些明争暗斗的争妍，在丁香顽强的绿色生命之中，显得艳力涌退，经不起岁月秋风的推敲。

丁香，是众华绿色生命中的一种奇迹，她的叶语，也是万千岁月中许多物语都无法比拟的倾诉。

Clove Leaves

Author: Bai Ding

Why listen to the language of the forest? Looking at the cloves in autumn.

Every autumn, I would stay in the clove bushes for a long time. Whether it's being reclusive or evading, a more pleasant explanation should be called leisure.

Leisure is just an excuse. The real sense of life is to listen to the language of the clove leaves.

The clove, also known as Baijie, has leaves like jasmine and flowers in two colors, purple and white. It blossoms in early spring and releases its fragrance in April. The flower shape is small like a sparrow's tongue. The buds grow among the branches. The petals are slightly soft, the color is fresh and tender, and the fragrance is intoxicating. It is afraid of dampness but resistant to cold. I remember that when Tang Lu Guimeng described the clove, there was such a poem: "The people on the river are not asked, and I am drunk in the clouds for ten years. Diligently untie the knot of the clove, and let the numerous branches spread freely in spring."

Perhaps Lu Guimeng's "diligence" is only for the "fragrant knot" and "letting loose". In fact, the meaning of the clove is not only in its fragrance. I often like the language of its leaves.

In April, when the swallowtail comes from the south, the cloves begin to sprout and turn green. If there are a few days of spring rain and a warm breeze blows, the leaf petals will quickly unfold in complacency. Every piece of greenness sways in the wind. At this time, the language of the leaves is tender and delicate in the wind, like a four or five-year-old girl's babbling. It is not excluded that there is love for the sunny world in the mainstream of growth in spring.

When the melting snow sighs and leaves completely, the small leaves of the clove begin to grow. The leaf edges are full and round, and the leaf tips are short and lovely. When the monsoon comes, the gentle language sounds, and it completely becomes a girl of sixteen or seventeen years old chatting gracefully. At this time, the "sparrow tongue" between the leaves begins to sprout and release a delicate fragrance. The fragrance is light, clean and elegant. The entire sound in the bushes can be described as both heavenly and earthly.

Magpies and cuckoos often come to the bushes to seek food. Skylarks vibrate their wings and stop in the sky, then suddenly dive straight down and disappear into the bushes in the blink of an eye. Only the harsh chirping can be heard, which is particularly vulgar and noisy. At this time, one would think of why Lu Guimeng of the Tang Dynasty wrote the poem "I am drunk in the clouds for ten years". Suddenly, one realizes that the situation of the Tang people is full of poetry.

Living in the villa, the air current in April brings the warm and humid air from the southeast and pushes the dry and cold air from the northwest to the other side of the mountain. Every morning when I push open the window and look out, a thin layer of mist floats in the clove bushes. At this time, the cloves are still sleeping peacefully and the small water droplets on the leaves are transparent and slightly shaking in the glow of the morning light. The language of the clove leaves is just waiting for the wind to come.

I don't care what prelude the brilliant yellow elm has before its leaf language, nor do I inquire whether the leaves of mountain peach and maple trees can stir up touching sound spectra in the wind. Occasionally, in the midst of writing, I suddenly recall a verse by Yuan Haowen of the Jin Dynasty: "Among the fragrance, people say the sleep is rich in fragrance. Who believes the smell of lilac is the same? One tree has a hundred branches and millions of knots. It should be even more laborious to dye and perfume in spring." It can be seen that the bold and unrestrained people of the Jin Dynasty in Chinese history also had a special fondness for lilacs. But they never knew that the closest way to communicate with lilacs is to listen to the leaf language. Yuan Haowen, no matter how much effort he spent in spring, could only steal some of the flavor and posture of lilacs in "The Vase Ode", but he never listened to the leaf language of lilacs.

In June, the rainy season comes. To the north of the lilacs is a range of mountains. When the warm air current ascends, it often brings some amorous orographic rain. Braving the moistness of the rain, I often lose myself in the lilac bushes. The noise and chaos of the market that fills the body can be completely replaced by the leaf language in the lilac bushes. On the leaves of the lilacs in June, there is full of comfort. The leaf color changes from fresh green to dark green, and the leaf language also becomes mature and generous. Sometimes, under the impact of raindrops, the leaf language surges like a tide. Standing in the bushes, it seems as if one can hear the green of thousands of branches and leaves flowing out from the leaf margins, cleaning and driving away the manic heart, preventing commercial disputes, extinguishing many schemes for livelihood that repeatedly flared up due to being forced. Immersed in the rainy lilac bushes, the pouring out of the leaf language tells you that there is another realm outside the mundane world: nature, liberation, indifference, and taking things as they come. I often hope to find some concepts for reading life through listening to the leaf language of lilacs, or to seek a broad vision that can lead to an open and expansive force in the ups and downs of interests, so as to appreciate many movements of natural life. However, often when listening, only the sound is obtained; when looking, only the emerald green is seen; when smelling, only the fragrance is perceived. Thus, in March 2012, I invited a few friends to transplant several lilac plants from the villa to the front of the house in the busy city, in order to listen to the leaf language every day. Every midnight, the moonlight shines in from the window, and the mottled leaf shadows sway on the windowsill. Opening the window and looking at the moon, there is no longer any loneliness. The lilac leaves emit gentle and fine whispers under the moon, giving a feeling of "The moonlight shines on the night hall, and the leaf language sings in the seclusion" (from Baitan's short poem).

Many times, as long as one thinks of a little bit of vitality in some overly rigid silences, while smelling the fragrance and listening, then the passing years will be filled with fragrance. Even the loneliest state of mind will be recreated like a landscape, full of poetry and painting.

Every September over the years, when many flowers and green leaves begin to wither in sorrow, the leaf color of the lilacs is extremely beautiful. On one round leaf after another, a secluded green world emerges, clearly suggesting to people what is called the tenacity and continuation of life. Countless green leaves sway in the rustling autumn wind. Wandering in the bushes, one can enjoy the plumpness of the green leaves and the sweetness of the leaf language at will among all the withering. All the withering around will suddenly lose their sense of desolation. Those openly competing and secretly struggling battles for beauty, in the tenacious green life of the lilacs, seem to lose their charm and cannot withstand the scrutiny of the autumn wind of the years.

The lilac is a miracle among the green lives of all flowers. Its leaf language is also a pouring out that cannot be compared with many物语 in thousands of years.

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