In daily life, many people will record their past events through some articles. Everyone's hometown is different, but the nostalgia for his hometown is the same. Let's share the classic hometown prose on his back. Let's have a look.
On my back, my hometown classic Mei Wen 1 stands on the top floor of the high-rise building in this bustling city, and my blurred eyes look at the direction of clouds falling in the distance. That's where I dream, where there are my closest relatives, deepest feelings and most concerned hometown.
A person, in a strange city, I hesitate and hesitate. After living for a long time, I am used to it, but I still feel that this city does not belong to you, especially on holidays. That yearning goes deep into my bone marrow, and I always secretly think of and miss my family. At this time, I will squat in a corner to recall the appearance of my hometown, feel the familiar dust and listen shallowly.
My hometown is a remote village on the tropic of cancer, where there is no noise of the city and no bustling traffic. All it has is quiet, blue sky, clear streams, fragrant rice with earthy flavor, and mang mang mang. Lonely old houses, vicissitudes of mud walls, mottled doors and wind and rain eroded archways all constitute a scene full of vicissitudes.
Pushing open the door of the years treasured in my heart, we can feel the innocence of the collection, the slash and burn, my uncle's charming Yang Jiajiang, my mother's sad and lingering cowherd and weaver girl, the pastoral song left on the back of a cow, and the heartache of my aunt's death with a stick, all of which are so unforgettable and fixed into an eternal clear voice.
Nestled in the city's night of lights, walking in the bustling and crowded streets, thousands of miles away, I still smell the strong fragrance of my hometown. The faint light reflects the gorgeous flowers on the windowsill, faint, like a forgotten cinnabar, dotted with the beautiful night sky. In the dead of night, there were several dog barks in the distance, so I opened the curtain and looked out. My mother turned over and sighed, complaining about how the night was so long. Perhaps, only this moment is the only peace in the noise.
In the midsummer of July, let the deep homesickness fill the barrel beam of hometown, fill the happiness and happy time of family reunion, stir up two barrels full of thoughts with delicate shoulders, rush to hometown, dream and March forward in hometown. ...
My hometown is a besieged city where I live, and a city where I can't get out. Even if people go out, their hearts will always be locked in the city. ...
The classic prose of my hometown on my back 2 prose poems about my hometown.
Avoid the noise of the city and return to my warm hometown. The night in my hometown is gentle, sitting quietly by the lotus pond in front of the door, snuggling up to my mother, watching the lotus flowers blowing in the soft moonlight and listening to the bursts of frogs. This quiet night is more beautiful and safer. When I was a child, my mother told her son a story about why frogs croak. Thinking and thinking drove away the anxiety and anxiety in my heart, and my tenderness settled down, so I sat quietly until late at night. I often suffer from insomnia, but I slept soundly this night.
In drowsiness, there seems to be a rustling sound in the sky in my ear, and it is so chic and subtle in the sound of "dry eating" called slingshot bird. The morning in my hometown is particularly fresh, and the intoxicating lotus fragrance seeps into my heart and lungs. Looking through the graceful lotus, a beautiful young girl on the other side is pushing a bicycle to stop and go. The voice clearly came from her, adding a bit of charm to the morning in the village. Mom said she was selling sesame cakes, and this music replaced her crying. Every household in a small village knows that it sells baked wheat cakes as long as it hears that "only a mother is good in the world". The girl with shy eyes turned out to be Neil next door. I heard that Neil was admitted to a famous university and dropped out of school at home because of family difficulties. She cried out in shame and creatively sold baked wheat cakes. Her appearance snubbed those who sold steamed bread and sugar cakes. As a result, attractive music resounded throughout the village in the morning and evening. "Only Mom is Good in the World" sells sesame cakes, "Happy Birthday to you" sells sugar cakes, and "Little Girl Picking Mushrooms" sells steamed buns. It's very lively. If you decide to buy steamed bread or something, you must have a sense of music to tell what to sell.
The uniqueness of my hometown evokes painful memories of my childhood. At the age of ten, the wheat harvest season was hot and hot. In such a hot and poor summer, if a child has a popsicle to eat every day, it will be extremely happy. If a thirsty adult who works in the field buys a popsicle and sits in the shade of the field to enjoy it slowly, it feels like a long drought meets rain. The so-called popsicles are just frozen with saccharin. But that cold was the only cold drink and enjoyment in the countryside at that time. In order to make money and try my courage, my brother and I discussed selling popsicles. My father made us a small wooden box, and my mother pulled a cotton cover and sewed it in the poncho, saying it was not easy to digest on the popsicle. The popsicle factory sells it for 30 cents, and we can sell it for 50 cents outside. Just because a popsicle can earn a pencil, I have always been too shy to speak loudly, so I got up the courage and invited two sisters and my brother next door to carry boxes and sell them in the next village.
Pieces of golden wheat fields, unfamiliar faces, followed the two sisters, step by step around all corners of the country, but did not dare to shout. The voice of longing in my heart rose to my throat repeatedly and never dared to come out again. Every time I summon up courage, I just can't pronounce "selling popsicles". Why is this simplest, oldest and most common cry so difficult? The two sisters shouted when they saw no one. Their popsicles gradually decreased, but none of us moved. Follow me, I remembered the joke told by adults: a sweet potato seller dared not sell, followed by a sweet potato seller. Someone shouted "Sell sweet potatoes" and he also shouted "Me too". I don't think I am as good as selling sweet potatoes, and I dare not shout "Me too" after the two sisters. I also remembered the joke of selling things without shouting: a jujube seller shouted "Jujube has a small core and jujube has no core", and a walnut seller imitated "Big walnut has a small core and small walnut has no core" without thinking. As a result, the laundry list of dates reached the bottom, and none of the walnut sellers sold them. Finally, I was wondering why I didn't sell any of them when I shouted so loudly. Not everyone in this village doesn't like walnuts, do they?
The sun overhead demonically tested me, and cicadas laughed at me in a hoarse voice. The old man who grinds scissors and chokes kitchen knives is getting louder and louder. "Sharpen scissors and choke a kitchen knife" seems to be challenging me, and it seems to be preaching something to make this already hot weather even hotter. The younger brother's face was flushed by the sun, and his feet were blistered. He said, "Sister, shout, anyway, no one knows us in the foreign village." Looking at my brother's sweaty face and chapped lips, I let him eat a popsicle to quench his thirst. When I opened the box, there was a pool of yellow water in front of me. What are you yelling about?
When I came home in pain, it was past noon and my mother was waiting anxiously at the door. Seeing our faces, my mother didn't ask anything, so she took a bite from the room and told us to eat. I don't know how this unusual little mouth was dragged into my stomach with bitter tears. My mother bought me two catties of pork for a dollar, and it went up in smoke. Today, I still hate my cowardice at that time. Why was I timid as a mouse when I was a child? Girl selling baked wheat cakes, do you dare to close your lips and shout "selling baked wheat cakes"?