Longquan: A Poem of Celadon

In southern Zhejiang, there is a place called Longquan, like a treasure chest hidden by time. A gentle knock reveals a chest full of poetry and warmth. When you step into Longquan, the wind comes from the mountains and forests, carrying the whispers of thousand-year-old pine trees, like an old friend greeting you warmly. The mountains are the earth's back, rising and falling as it sleeps, covered in green, guarding this land day and night. The sun shines, gilding the terraced tea gardens with gold. The tea farmers' fingers fly, picking not only fresh buds but also the hope of a sweet life. When talking about Longquan, how can we not mention the sword? In the sword-making workshop, the furnace fire never goes out, and sparks fly like meteors in the night sky. The craftsmen's eyes are focused, and sweat drips down as they hammer, giving the iron strength and chivalry. Holding a Longquan sword, you can almost feel the passion of ancient warriors, riding through the world, cutting through troubles, and dreaming fearlessly. Even more fascinating is the celadon, as warm as jade. The kiln fire burns, turning clay into a treasure. Holding a piece of celadon, you can feel the soft heartbeat of time. In the light and shadow, the green is like the forest after rain, or the lake in spring, full of unspeakable Eastern romance, making the mundane elegant. Walking along Longquan Old Street, the stone road echoes the past. Under the eaves of old shops, red lanterns sway, casting a warm glow. The plum cake sold by the grandmother on the street corner is sweet and fragrant, evoking nostalgia. You can walk into any small shop and chat with the owner, feeling the warmth of life and the stability of time. Longquan, you are not a station I pass by in a hurry, but a harbor where I am willing to stay. In your arms, time slows down into poetry, and life is full of unexpected tenderness. I am willing to open my soul and let you write your own footnotes with mountains, water, swords, and celadon.