In the early spring of March, the gentleness and affection of the south of the Yangtze River are fully revealed by the West Lake in Hangzhou. At this time, the West Lake is like a long scroll of light ink, gently shrouded by layers of tulle-like smoke and rain, which shows its unique charm and poetry.
The West Lake in March is just like a shy and timid girl, quietly blooming in the dense drizzle. On the surface of the lake, the mist rises in a curling way, and the distant mountains and near the water loom in the mist, just like the blank space in a Chinese painting, giving people infinite space for reverie. The moon in the three pools in the center of the lake, although there is no bright moonlight at the moment, but under the reflection of the rain, there are layers of ripples, as if telling an ancient story.
The remnants of the snow on the broken bridge have not disappeared, but now it is a different scene, the rain falling obliquely and gently sprinkled on the stone road, making the broken bridge even more quaint and quiet. Visitors hold various colored oil-paper umbrellas and stroll leisurely on the bridge, as if they are in the artistic conception of Song Ci Yuan Song.
The weeping willows on the shore are gently swaying in the breeze and drizzle, and the catkins are like green smoke filling the lakeside, echoing with the Leifeng Pagoda and Baochu Pagoda in the distance, constituting a spring picture scroll that is suitable for movement and quiet. Occasionally, one or two flat boats rowed on the lake, and the penny in the boatman's hand broke through the calm lake, leaving a circle of ripples that gradually dispersed, adding a bit of vividness and agility to the rainy West Lake.
This situation and this scene can't help but remind people of the poet Bai Juyi's poem: "The favorite lake is not enough to go east, and the white sand embankment in the green poplar shade." "The West Lake in March, with its unique hazy beauty of smoke and rain, interprets the deep Jiangnan feelings in the cycle of the four seasons, making the first person forget to return and haunted by dreams.