{This is the old version, updated version of the graphic}: http://t.cn/RaFM7RH Every autumn, the newly born Arctic terns leave their hometown that they are not even familiar with, and flew about 18,000 kilometers with their relatives to the floating ice area of Antarctica for the winter. In the spring of the following year, they will definitely set off in a hurry, flying over the west coast of Africa, flying over the North Atlantic, and returning to the place where they were born again. Many migratory birds resembling Arctic terns come from different continents and gather to separate; their offspring can start their first hikes in their lives without pre-learning or searching for roads, and finally arrive accurately. "Bird's Migration" tells about these migratory birds a complete migration, a great flight. After an hour and a half, I closed my eyes in To be by your side in the long and low end of the film, feeling as if I was still flying comfortably, and I could even hear the sound of the wings cutting airflow. In the end, the surroundings finally calmed down, I couldn’t help standing up, clapping alone, and to Jacques Behan (Jacques Perrin) and more than 300 other people who participated in the creation of this work pay tribute to this work as great as Flying. I don’t know how to tell you what I have witnessed. My flight started with the gray-tailed goose entangled in the net. After the little boy cut the mesh for it, it took the net rope on its feet and chased its partner. Together we skimmed the tranquil lake and golden wheat fields, crossed bridge holes and diversion channels, and flew over jungles, swamps, the Statue of Liberty and the Eiffel Tower. Go north, go north, and fly to a familiar and unfamiliar hometown. Later, the gray cranes and I flew down in front of a certain farmer to rest. The door opened, and an old woman hobbled out. Although we need the food in her hands, no one dared to approach her. She carried the wheat, walked over, walked over, and reached out to us, but we finally got up and ran away. I know, she must be as disappointed as I am. Bar-headed geese and I rested in the snow together, and left casually before the snow-capped mountains could collapse, letting the sky full of ice and snow roar behind us; I slowly flew across the farm with the swans to watch them floating peacefully on the lake in the sun, The feathers shone brilliantly; I was still with Jacques Behan, reveling in the graceful dance steps of the red-crowned cranes, and the way they flew was as smooth and perfect as slow motion. The most wonderful thing is that when we were flying, we didn't have Teacher Zhao Zhongxiang's thoughtful Mandarin in our ears, and there were not even more than ten lines. Only the birds chirping low or high, only the sound of their wings flying high in the sky, only the whimper of the splashes and waves they raise, and only the melodious and distant music like chants. Those music sounds can always appear at the most suitable time, ring the best rhythm for the dance of the red-crowned cranes and swans, and chant joyfully for the newborn chicks to poke their heads out of their parents' wings for the first time. Those heavenly songs even flew higher and higher together with the snow geese and northern herring birds, and fell on the earth together with the sun. The farther you fly, the more surprises naturally increase, but at the same time I feel a little sad. As we grow older, we don’t know more about other creatures that live with us on this planet, but less and less. Most of us seem to have forgotten that we used to be a child, that we have eyes and ears, and can perceive all the natural and beautiful things created by nature. How many eyes are obscured by the five-color streamer, and you can't see the colors of the four o'clock changes and the monsoon; how many ears are blocked by the hustle and bustle of Vientiane, and you can't hear the rustling leaves and silent singing. If you see the bald eagle soaring in Colorado, with a calm and serene figure proudly flying over the rocks and pine forests, you will find that the world These Flies Ying Gougou, how humble and funny they look like. Jacques Behan said that the migration of migratory birds is a story about commitment. In fact, this is not even a story, I just like the word "promise". Tomorrow I will fly, through all the hardships and obstacles, travel thousands of miles, just to come back to you again. How literary. However, for this promise, or, more importantly, to survive, migratory birds go back and forth endlessly year after year, and all is not just good. I saw the bird with its wings broken, dragging its sick wings for the last struggle, and finally drowning in the eye-catching crabs. I saw tens of thousands of emperor penguins staying together, but I could only watch my children being bitten to death and eaten by just two invading wild ducks. They wailed at the sky, heartbreaking. I will remember the Canadian goose that was dissipated by the galloping horses. The friends had already gone so far away, and its back was so lonely. I will still remember those wild ducks being raised, seeing the same kind flying in the air in the iron cage, hearing their happy and free screams, and such complicated eyes. I know that the beauty of nature always coexists with cruelty. With these alone, I am not too uncomfortable. Flying over the lake on the outskirts of the city that time, the black-fronted geese were beautiful and free, and the music was flying, and I seemed to have forgotten everything. Suddenly there was the sound of gunfire, and the music came to an abrupt end with the life of the black-fronted goose. Unprepared, I quaked all over and stayed there. The gunshots still kept coming one after another, one shot after another, as if they were all hitting my body, and I felt painful. The black-fronted geese fell to the lake one after another, even the posture of death was so graceful. Of course I will not forget the red-breasted duck that was stuck with oil in the industrial zone and could not move and could only close his eyes to die; nor would I forget the little goose that was helpless in front of the huge weeder. After flying with the migratory birds for so much time, I saw traces of humans almost everywhere on this planet, and most of those traces seemed so out of place. We call ourselves the masters of this planet, but most of what we leave behind is endless destruction caused by greed and brutal damage to other creatures that also belong to this planet. Fortunately, Jacques Behan's pure eyes will not disturb us too much. He and his photographers carefully deal with every bloody scene that may make us uncomfortable, so that you can just understand what happened, but don't show you the bad scenes naked. Fortunately, I saw the grey-tailed goose with a net rope tied to its leg, returning to the little boy who rescued him in the winter. The group of gray cranes that once rejected the old woman finally accepted the gift of the old man when they passed the farm again. . Their long mouths dexterously took the food from the old man's hands, trusting that way. I laughed, as relieved as her. ——I sometimes look at the thousands of birds in the sky and wonder how they recognize each other. I even suspect that because they are easy to lose, they rarely have friends; or, they are all friends with each other. Who knows, maybe in their eyes, they are also confused about these humans on the ground. Of course the birds don't care about this. They travel day and night, just to return or go, fulfill that eternal promise, even if they pay the price of their lives. Thank you Jacques Behan, let us fly around the planet, and don't hesitate to give us the most beautiful singing. {This is the old version, the updated version of the graphic}:http://t.cn/RaFM7RH
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