Tumult of Thoughts at the Start of the Year of the Horse
岁序潜移寒似退，驹光过隙惹闲愁。
闲云过眼千峰寂，素指鸣弦一曲休。
赣水行舟经冷暖，杭城回首感春秋。
欲挽清辉终不得，聊将思绪托银钩。
Meaning and Imagery（BY AI）: This poem expresses the poet’s reflections on the passage of time and the changing seasons. The first line describes the gradual shift of the seasons, with the cold seeming to recede as time passes. The second line uses the metaphor of “colt’s light passing through a crevice” (驹光过隙) to describe how swiftly time flies, evoking a sense of melancholy. The third and fourth lines depict a quiet scene of clouds drifting past and mountains standing in silence, with the poet playing a string instrument that comes to a rest. The fifth and sixth lines recall travels by boat on the Gan River, experiencing both warm and cold moments, and looking back from Hangzhou to reflect on the passage of time and the changing seasons. The final two lines express the desire to hold onto the clear moonlight but being unable to do so, instead entrusting one’s thoughts to the silver hook (the crescent moon). The overall imagery conveys a sense of nostalgia, the fleeting nature of time, and a contemplative mood.
It is still during the Spring Festival of the Year of the Horse, and such a holiday is truly brief—not brief because of visiting relatives, but because time, my time, seems to be aging.
Busy?
Throughout 2025, I kept saying I would create that intelligent commit message generator, but I never had the time. It was only until just before the new year that I finally had some time to catch my breath.
For those few days, I really didn’t want to do anything. Watching the clouds outside the window, the noisy voices of colleagues—that person would be returning to their hometown that afternoon, this one was looking for colleagues to still have lunch with. It seemed that at this moment, work was no longer needed; everyone seemed immersed in the pre-Spring Festival atmosphere, brewing a lazy sleep that was bound to come, and time would also stand still in that lazy sleep. The cold of winter was also departing; the clouds became lighter, and the sunshine became warmer. Even though it was cooling down outside, everything was becoming quieter for the sake of awakening.
Work also entered a sealed state, needing to be opened again after the new year. But listening to the footsteps of the leader walking around and the “keep working hard” encouragement drifting from another time-space, it seemed that some action was needed to cooperate. So, at this very moment, I reopened the half-written code, recalling the time at the beginning of 2025, the discomfort that OpenCommit caused me. Although it was making fewer and fewer errors, that discomfort was still clearly waiting here.
I corrected the errors in the tool one by one, typing on the keyboard, when suddenly my thoughts flew away again, as if I were on the city walls of the Tang and Song dynasties, watching the noise inside the city, feeling distant and isolated. Time has changed until now, but I here have not changed. The time that stayed behind seemed beautiful and clear, accompanying the tick-tock sound, harmonizing with the pa-pa sound of the keyboard, and life was concretized. Every second of loss was also so clear.
Go Again
At this time last year, I was in Ganzhou. Eating the spicy stir-fried fish, traveling by boat between the riverbanks. Although there were cloudy skies for many days, that occasional ray of sunshine appeared exceptionally brilliant. Just like now sitting in front of the window, watching the kitten purring softly and sleeping. From the open crack in the window, a faint breeze brought a little coldness, and also the greedy desire for this moment to be eternal. Learning from the kitten, I narrowed my eyes pretending to be asleep, enjoying the slowness of time and the speed of life.
Ganzhou, Hangzhou—these places are all places that my wife and I like. Breaking away from the scope of our current home, far from all troubles and daily life, time instead becomes faster. Always thinking that if we don’t sleep, perhaps this moment won’t end, and it can continue forever. So we went many times, but it’s still not enough.
“We need to go again, yes, that suits us very well.”
In memory, past times are always clear and joyful. Walking among the mountains, clear springs flowing down beside the stone steps, climbing this mountain, then looking back at the road we came from hidden in the curtain of trees and light, breathing the gentle or biting air, time at this moment becomes more vivid. Even at this moment in front of the desk, feeling the suddenly warm and slightly cold air of the north, closing my eyes, gazing at the distant mountains, occasionally a bird song passes by, walking across a bridge, crossing a corridor, turning onto the small path where the pavilion and lake walk together, walking there, perhaps time sinks into another time.
A Moment of Leisure
The busiest time during Spring Festival is the thirtieth day. When I was little, watching mom and dad busy back and forth, slaughtering chickens and stewing ducks, kneading dough and mincing filling, it was always some joy. Pulling my sister and brother to go out, to the park, to the slide. Time almost didn’t change; it was all so calm, occasionally embellished by mom’s hearty laughter in the gaps of time.
Now, the busy ones are no longer the parents, but more the exhausted self. And what I look forward to most is that moment of leisure. Watching the sunlight scattered on the ground, the kitten stretching its paws and waving, as if in the next moment it can catch the sunlight and also keep time under its cat paws. The afternoon sunlight on the thirtieth was soft, emitting a faint golden color, shining on the hand with a faint warmth. Following the warmth extending outward, following the clouds drifting away from the window, watching the changing of light and shadow, watching the melted snow on the branches becoming crystal clear.
This moment, brief, fleeting.