In the embrace of Mount Tai, the people of Taian have forged a tender covenant with mountain springs. Each spring, when apricot blossoms unfurl like powdered snow across the valleys, locals ride electric scooters up winding paths, plastic buckets clattering behind them. Their red jackets flutter like poppies amid the pale-pink floral seas—a fleeting watercolor painting brought to life by the mountain’s breath.
The finest springs emerge from lofty heights, their sweetness peaking in springtime. Before summer rains dilute their purity, villagers seek out crystalline pools nestled in rocky crevices. Cupping hands to drink, they savor liquid moonlight—cool, crisp, and faintly sweet, as if the mountain itself had distilled sunlight into nectar.
Lower in the valleys, wilderness thrives unnamed. Beneath blossoming branches lies a banquet of earth’s making: fiddleheads curl like question marks, violet-tipped herbs whisper forgotten uses, and the valley floor carpets with wild greens whose names have slipped from human memory. Here, beneath skies brushed by passing birds, people kindle portable stoves. Springwater boils into tea, its steam mingling with stories exchanged on sun-warmed boulders. A breeze carries away laughter, leaving only the contentment of those who understand that true wealth flows not from possessions, but from sharing a perfect moment with sky, stone, and spring.
When twilight descends, buckets filled and hearts fuller still, the electric scooters hum back downhill. Behind them, the mountain keeps its quiet vigil, guarding springs that will quench generations yet unborn.
泰山怀中的泰安人，与山泉订着亘古的琴约。每年杏花作雪的时节，电动车驮着叮当响的塑料桶沿山盘旋而上，红衣人在粉白花海里时隐时现，宛如山气呵出的水粉画。
好泉都在云深之处。趁烟雨未染的晴日，寻着石罅里一泊泊清泓，掬饮时恍若捧起凝固的月光——凉意沁骨，回甘里晃动着阳光的碎金。这水经岩层千叠滤过，把山魂都酿成了甜。
溪谷往下走，便是野性的江湖。杏花影里藏着土地的宴席：蕨菜蜷成翠绿的问号，紫苏叶缘滚着露珠银边，更有无数不知名的绿意漫过石缝。采泉人就地支起炉灶，任茶香与山风私语。鸟影掠过盛水的搪瓷缸，馒头咸菜就着流云下咽，方知所谓珍馐，原是山光与清泉的唱和。
暮色涨满山谷时，电动车载着晃荡的水花归去。后视镜里，山峦正将新泉藏入岩骨，这些地下暗河将途经无数春秋，去浸润尚未出生的婴孩的第一声啼哭。
石头上野餐的男女渐渐变成剪影，他们的欢语被风编入古藤年轮。泉眼无声，只将星辰接引进地心，酝酿来年更清冽的相逢。
