Springtime Talks About Willows

 　　I strolled alone along the country lane, bathed in the warm sunshine, a gentle spring breeze caressing my face. My heart felt open and free; everything was reviving, everything was growing, the vast earth brimming with the power of life.

　　Most captivating were the rows of weeping willows along the riverbank. Weeping willows are truly picturesque; the lines, "A tall tree adorned in jade, ten thousand green silk ribbons hanging down," are indeed beautiful verses. In just a few days, seemingly in the blink of an eye, the dark brown branches of the willows by the riverbank magically transformed into a tender, pale yellow. Gently lifting them to examine them, tiny, fuzzy, light green buds peeked out from the crimson buds, like a bride shyly revealing half her face, her veil half-hidden; the graceful branches, like the bride's hair, swayed in the breeze.

　　The melodious "dududu" of willow whistles filled the air as a group of children ran about, swinging tender willow branches, playing their whistles. Ah, willow whistle, you are the clarion call of spring!

　　In my childhood, a few close friends and I would climb willow trees by the river, each of us like a nimble monkey, swinging from tree to tree, laughing and playing, shouting "Come on, come on!" We would pluck the tender willow catkins from the branches and take them home for our mother to make "glutinous rice cakes." Her hands were truly magical; the slightly bitter "glutinous rice cakes" were a rare delicacy. She would mix fresh willow catkins with cornmeal, steam them in a bamboo steamer, and the aroma of the tender catkins would waft into the yard, making our mouths water. We, the hungry little devils, were only quiet at this time, sitting around the table waiting for our mother's hospitality. What

　　I cherish most is the melodious sound of the willow whistles. Making willow whistles requires skill. Choose a soft willow twig, cut a section with a knife, then hold the twig in your left hand and slowly twist it with your right index finger and thumb. You'll hear a soft "click" sound; this is the sound of the outer bark separating from the inner wood. Continue twisting like this—the twisting must be just right. Too much force and the bark will crack; too little and the bark and wood won't separate. After twisting, peel off a little bark from the thicker end. Hold the thicker end with your teeth and pull the other end gently; the willow tube will come off. Next comes making the mouthpiece. Carefully remove a small section of the outermost bark from the end of the willow tube with a knife, leaving a yellowish-green layer. The size and force of this cut directly affect whether the willow flute can produce a sound, and the thickness and quality of the sound. A short and thin willow flute with a perfectly sized mouthpiece will produce a clear and melodious sound; otherwise, the sound will be dull and muffled.

　　Playing the willow whistle requires no musical talent; the enjoyment lies entirely in the childlike innocence and the beauty of spring. And the sound of your willow whistle, singing and harmonizing with mine—what music in the world can compare?

　　I recall two beautiful maids in *Dream of the Red Chamber*, one named "Ruhua" and the other "Baoqin"—the willows of spring are worthy of comparison. As a farmer's son, I still remember the delicacies made from willow catkins; and the farm tools made from willow branches—the "willow cover" used to compact plowed and harrowed land, leaving behind delicate, graceful curves on the ground…

　　It's another season of fluttering willow catkins and swaying willow branches. Those long willow branches evoke my deep affection for my hometown and bring countless hopes to the people of my hometown for another year.