I was once awed by the peaceful scene of a small anonymous village in northern Fujian where lived an old friend of my grandmother’s.
The beauty and peace of the village were unequaled. It was a beautiful morning; green mountains extended high above the clouds. Wild flowers speckled the base of the mountains, waving their faces in the gentle breeze. A clear stream ran through a meadow. Grasses there were with dew, and so were flowers and bushes, and spider webs. The drops of dew sparkle like jewels when the sun shines on them.
The tiny village had an irregular road lined by small houses on either side. No sound could be heard when we stepped down the stone-paved narrow road towards the heart of the village, and there were faces at every window, men in short sleeves standing outside their houses ;old women and kids peering from door-ways , and women sat at yard weaving sweaters for their children or men.
The peace and quietness are like a dream which you just cannot purchase in a city. You have to bear a thousand car horns barking constantly in the city night, but all you can hear here is the soothing wind from the forest.
The tranquility and beauty of the cozy place made you feel comfortable and relaxed. It was a true paradise for city dwellers to get rid of the noisy and hustle urban life for a