God's lost feathers

Always believe that clothes start with a rouge button or a bud, shy and mysterious, white and solemn, not against the cold. God created to give a woman a beautiful and full carcass, but forgot to put on a colorful coat. So clothes, clothes are God's lost feathers, women spend their whole life constantly looking for that complete, perfect, more like their own.

Every feather is a gentle dream. God played tricks on it, making you confused and addicted, and seductive to the extreme. Those amorous feelings, elegant, low-key, luxurious, fashionable, traditional, are bugs in your heart, gnawing and pulling your little nerves. Make you ready to move, you try and try, buy and buy, can't wait to wear it all over the world in one night.

A friend likes fragrant cloud gauze, soft gold in satin. Once I met, I rushed up and bought it, and many people exclaimed it was not worth it. But she smiled and said it was worth it. What I bought was a mood. I wanted to make my midnight dream noble and gorgeous.

A friend loves flower pants, national, red and green, painted with large peonies, as vulgar as social opera and as earthy as the quilt noodles of the poor years. She makes five at a time, dozens in a summer, and then gives them away. She said, "No, I have to make two more for you when I get back." It smells good on you. It smells so good. From the big land to the ocean, easy vulgarity is elegant, women always change tricks, almost crazy.

I am very glad to live in this era, can be light extravagant, can be extravagant, or even a little capricious, even if there is a slight sense of guilt. Instead of Lao she's poignant courtyard, the whole family shared a pair of trousers. In the cold winter of October, women could only hide in quilts, even go to the toilet, surrounded by rags and panicked. He let us know that women can not only fly without feathers, but also lose their basic dignity.

As for whether a woman with clothes is beautiful or a woman without clothes is beautiful, I don't think there is any need to answer this question. If the street is full of white flowers, you must turn a blind eye to it, or even get sick of it. In the primitive tribes of Australia, people live and work naked in their daily life. But when it comes to parties and dances, women have to cover their predecessor with feathers, because beauty comes from implication and mystery. Only women in clothes are amorous, charming, charming and moral, which is the most primitive truth.

Every woman has a wardrobe, each wardrobe lives in a small Jiangnan, purple smoke water fog, Boguang Liuan. Open it, and it's a pink, wet start. It is a woman's thousands of miles of rivers and mountains, a boat, an oar, a leaf and a sail, are the spread of their own. Small thinking, small emotions, small joys and sorrows, small aesthetic, and even a little narcissism. Yesterday's pure white, today's deep purple, the day before yesterday's lace, the day after tomorrow may just be a plain lotus, open in the lake you must pass.

Full of cabinets, with a residual body temperature, quietly hanging there, wear or not, see and do not look, is a kind of silent company. Like midnight flowers, in your sleep, open and close, close and bloom, one after another, blooming gently and gently. Even if it falls with a bang, it will not disturb the smile on your lips. Clothes are material and half the full moon of the spirit. Half of the beauty, in the candlelight, holding a lip pen to draw and draw, trace and trace, small Jasper, also have the state of the city.

In the past, women pressed their green hills and clear water in an old camphor wood box, like a rouge well, lonely and mysterious. One day, the light powder of time was quietly opened, the sparkling waves suddenly lost your eyes, those peach branches painted spring eyebrows with dew, those worldly past events, those warm and prosperous memories, and even the beauty of countless details. From the initial red to the final plain white, from the lively beginning to the cold end, you sit in the corner of time, slowly turning the page, like flipping through an old almanac, like flipping through other people's stories. There are tears scalded, I do not know whether it is their own or someone else's, in short, it is warm.

Early summer morning, a little cold, the jasmine on the windowsill is just right, snow-white powder fragrance. You stand in front of the wardrobe, search, and take off a light gray woolen skirt with your favorite pink twig pattern on the edge. You match a pink cardigan, close to a snow-white lace sling, that kind of white, is white to the heart. Open the drawer, you take out a silver bracelet, put on your hair, and finally put on a light pink flower shawl, clean and tidy, get up and sit down, you wait for the clear spring to flow through the bottom of your hand. Those little fish that have wings and can fly swam on the keyboard, and those wonderful thoughts come out like flowers, bone by bone. There was light in the dense forest, and Snow White passed by with her skirt. It was a magical world, Little Red Riding Hood, crystal slippers, moon boat, everything could appear. Ohh! Words are a very interesting thing, the wave of light in the hands, is a very smart and mysterious clothes, you have become God's tailor. The fog finally cleared, and the birdsong outside the window became clearer and clearer. The butterfly flew in, played among the curtains, and finally landed on your shoulder. You dared not move, and the world stood still.

Sometimes, I think it's good to be a woman, for those lost feathers, for the search in my heart.

There are two very precious clothes in the Dream of Red Mansions, one is called sparrow gold and the other is called Qiu Qiu. The peacock gold is knitted with peacock hair, and the feather is woven from the face of wild ducks, all of which pay tribute to the Russian state. Not only gently warm, but also resplendent. Mother Jia gave it to Baoyu and Fu dimpled Qiu gave it to Baoqin. There is no such thing as Daiyu here. At first, Baoyu was worried that Daiyu was ill at ease, but she did not expect that Daiyu was the same and called out to her sister with Baoqin. Instead, Baochai laughed at herself. Not only mother Jia was stingy with Daiyu, but also Cao Hou, in the first 80 times, there was almost no description of Daiyu's clothes, but only the red incense boots and the big red crane in the snow in the 49th time, which was regarded as an explanation to the readers.

Jia Fu and other families, Jiangnan weaving, the emperor's royal silk shop, there must be a lot of contraband goods. Even Wang Xifeng, who has seen the world like that, has been in charge of the tribute and celebration of foreign countries since her grandfather, but she does not know what soft smoke is. It can be thought that the clothing culture of Jia's mansion is comparable to that of the Forbidden City. Cao Hou is naturally a connoisseur, writing and writing all the way: from Wang Xifeng's brilliant color embroidery to Baochai's low-key mediocrity; from Xiangyun's disguise as a man to the cold light of the smoke; from attacking the Qing Wen Fang official, and even the third-class servant. Only the author of Daiyu saved and thought about it again and again, and even the wording of the eyebrow and eyes was changed and changed. (selected essays) Why is it so cautious? Because Daiyu is the goddess in the author's heart and the spirit of heaven and earth. He didn't know what kind of clothes he was going to put on her, and he didn't know what kind of clothes would match her. The impossible thing went to the heart, so Cao Hou knitted another dress for her, that is, the talent all over the sky, the unique character, the pure, clean, white and plump heart.

At the charity ball at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York in 2015, the theme was Chinese mirrors. All the world's top stars appeared, luxurious Han, graceful Tang, elegant Song, beautiful Qing, improved cheongsam, and a combination of Chinese and Western elements of the dress, all the way, the final spell is not appearance, not wardrobe, but the beauty of aura and simplicity.

After the actual thousands of clouds of water sit off, maybe you only need a pure white tea suit, so simple that there is no button, ethereal and simple, and the human environment is one. All the search is just for a peace, a return of the heart, an original truth. As a friend said in a message: I often can't remember the hair style, dress color and style of the woman I just talked to. I only remember her posture and behavior. As a matter of fact, I am, no matter for a man or a woman, I can only feel his overall charm and aura.

Thank God! It not only gives us different looks, but also gives us a chance to find ourselves. You can walk through the prosperity of three thousand and stay warm in the clouds and rivers, or you can reshape yourself according to your own preferences. Just don't forget to put a decent dress on your heart when looking for those beautiful feathers so that your personality can be improved.

/ tr. by Phil Newell)