My heart journeys with the willow catkins.

 　　The lawn downstairs was just beginning to show a faint green, the newly sprouted grass trembling in the chilly spring breeze. The weeping willows in the garden were stretching their branches, swaying their soft, graceful forms, while the neatly trimmed holly bushes along the roadside were also sprouting new green shoots. On the sidewalk I took to work, I saw that the crabapple buds were still crowded on the branches, and the pinkish-white buds were already swaying precariously. The scattered blossoms, pink tinged with white, attracted passersby to stop and admire them.

　　While I was still searching for signs of spring, the peach blossoms were already in full bloom, their pink flowers bursting forth in clusters, almost flamboyantly, like a maiden, fresh, serene, and tranquil, enticing my gaze. The pear blossoms were still budding, while the magnolias were already in full bloom. And other flowers whose names I didn't know were already smiling in the spring breeze, accompanied by the occasional buzzing of bees, captivating and enchanting—truly, April is the most beautiful month of the year. I can't help but sigh at how fleeting spring is, leaving no time for distraction or reverie. Unlike the long, drawn-out days of winter, the sweltering heat of summer, which seem endlessly unbearable.

　　Strolling through a spring park, alone amidst the beautiful scenery, my heart leaps like a spring bird among the blossoms. "Spring outing, apricot blossoms fill my hair, whose dashing young man is that on the roadside? I intend to marry him, even if I am heartlessly abandoned, I will not be ashamed." A beautiful voice drifts into my ears, and I can't help but smile. The apricot blossoms are past their bloom; it should be "Light clouds drift beyond the green willows at dawn, red apricots bloom in vibrant spring." Thinking about it, it makes sense. Fallen petals, a solitary figure; light rain, swallows in pairs—a beautiful scene, a lonely beauty; spring is already tinged with longing, no wonder there's a hint of melancholy and a touch of helplessness. My young son runs wildly among the flowers, striking various poses for me to take pictures, accompanied by a shower of colorful petals he knocks down. While snapping photos, I inadvertently thought of him. We used to row boats, stroll, and admire the moon together here. The scenes of him and our son riding bumper cars and speeding along the rapids seem so vivid. In the blink of an eye, our son has grown into a tall, handsome young man, while our feelings seem to remain unchanged, untouched by time or life's hardships. A gentle emotion fills my heart; the expression in my son's eyes is almost a carbon copy of his. How blessed and loving Heaven is to me!

　　"A favorable wind lends its strength, sending me soaring to the clouds." Parting the willow catkins that pelt the faces of passersby, I couldn't help but think of Baochai's poem. I don't want to soar to the clouds; I only wish the willow catkins above could carry my thoughts, telling my beloved: When will we hold hands, amidst the flying catkins? I only wish the pure white willow catkins could bring back his blessing, his wish for peace. Gazing at the willow catkins and poplar fluff drifting like snowflakes under the blue sky, I seemed to see that early spring afternoon years ago, when we searched for melted snow in the winding pond of our hometown, bathed in the warm sun. I seemed to hear his resounding footsteps as he ran towards me on the quiet city streets that morning, and I seemed to feel his excited heartbeat as I sat beside him in the dark of the movie theater.

　　I remember it was my first time visiting his hometown, an ordinary little village in the hilly area. To the east of the village was a dry stream, spanned by an ancient stone bridge with bluestone railings and a bluestone bridge deck. At the bridgehead stood an old poplar tree, its canopy so thick it took two people to encircle it, its branches and leaves blocking out the sun. Beneath the tree was a small stone temple, less than half a meter high, yet it was bustling with worshippers. The spring sun was strong, and the spring breeze in the fields scattered the poplar catkins everywhere. Although I wasn't ugly, I couldn't suppress the timidity and shyness I felt before meeting my future in-laws for the first time. We stopped at the bridgehead and rested in the shade of the trees, both gazing at the dancing willow catkins in the air.

　　"When the willow catkins fly, spring is beautiful; one stands at the bridgehead, nearing home," he murmured to himself as a spring breeze blew. At that time, we were young and full of life; I was completely absorbed in Qiong Yao's romance novels, and he was at the age where his poetic sensibilities were blossoming. In a sense, what moved and attracted me to him seemed to be only his deep poetic sensibility and scholarly air. He pointed to the small temple under the willow tree and told me to pray, saying that the Willow Tree Immortal could embolden us and bless our love with happiness. Whether the Willow Tree Immortal truly possessed power or he had cast a spell on me, from that moment on, I truly entered their family. Who could have imagined that once I boarded the boat, the cries of monkeys on both banks would never cease, and the light boat would have already passed countless mountains? Judging from the current situation and trend, the tide is calm and the banks are wide, the wind is fair and the sail is full, sailing downstream. The boatman is strong and can't stop even if he wants to. There's a dock or port where we can refuel and have a meal. The little girl will still sit at the bow while the brother walks on the shore. No matter how turbulent the currents or shoals, they're just like the Yellow River flowing from the sky, rushing to the sea never to return.

　　My son scooped up a handful of poplar and willow catkins from a low-lying area and blew them like dandelions. The white catkins floated and swirled in front of his slightly childish face, hitting me and making me dizzy. The catkins gently brushed against my cheeks, giving me a ticklish, tingling sensation. I was momentarily intoxicated by this feeling. I couldn't help but squint my eyes, fully enjoying this wonderful moment. I felt as if I could feel his gentle caress, and tears involuntarily slid down my cheeks.