水Water
折戟沉沙铁未消，自将磨洗认前朝。
东风不与周郎便，铜雀春深锁二乔。
时光如流水，一晃一千八百多年过去了，曾经发生的事，却依然留在眼前，当年曹操与孙刘联军扎营在此，只隔这一条江。在那赤壁的水下，仍埋藏着无数忠骨。而那哗哗流水，似乎也在述说着这一切。
水是静止的，它留住了历史。孔明周瑜在此智斗，孔明巧借东风，欺曹操不懂水战之术，趁他人困马乏之际，一把火将魏军水师烧了个精光。曹操耐他无何，只得鸣金收兵，退了回去。至此三国割据形势才形成。这一切，都被水流记载，当作典故，留与后人评说：留在我们中间，任我们感慨。
水是流动的，它淌走了遗憾。孔明大败魏军，面对就要到手却又丢失的口边肥肉，不知在退军时这位称雄一世的奸雄作何感想？惋惜？遗憾？不服？还是惆怅？我无从得知。无论他曹操如何厉害，也败在了这赤水之上。也有杜牧为他鸣过不平。可是一切还是这样，随着那潺潺流水飘走，游走，渐渐淡出人们的视线。
水能载舟，亦能覆舟。水留住了历史，也流走了历史，这水究竟为何物？
A broken halberd, sunk in sand, its iron not yet worn away;
I scour and wash it myself, and know it for a former dynasty.
Had the east wind not favored young Zhou,
deep in spring the Bronze Sparrow would have locked the two Qiao away.
Time is like flowing water. In the blink of an eye, more than eighteen hundred years have passed, yet what once happened still lingers before my eyes. In those days Cao Cao and the allied armies of Sun and Liu were encamped here, divided by only this one river. Beneath the waters of Red Cliff, countless loyal bones still lie buried. And the murmuring current seems to recount it all.
Water is still, and it has kept history. Kongming and Zhou Yu matched wits here; Kongming cunningly borrowed the east wind, knowing Cao Cao understood nothing of water warfare, and while the enemy was spent, their men worn out and horses weary, a single fire burned the navy of Wei to ashes. Cao Cao could do nothing but sound the gongs and withdraw. Only then did the three-way division of the realm take shape. All of this the current recorded and kept as an old tale, left for later generations to weigh; left among us, for us to sigh over.
Water flows, and it has washed regret away. Kongming crushed the army of Wei; and facing the fat morsel that had reached his very lips only to slip away, who knows what this schemer who bestrode his age was thinking as he retreated? Regret? Sorrow? Defiance? Or melancholy? I cannot know. However formidable Cao Cao was, he too met defeat upon these crimson waters. Even Du Mu once cried out at the injustice of it. Yet still it all went this way, drifting off with that trickling current, wandering away, slowly fading from sight.
Water bears the boat, and water overturns it. Water has kept history, and water has washed history away. What, in the end, is this thing called water?
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