At that time, my mother was busy, and I always accompanied my grandmother for several months a year. Those months were the happiest time of my childhood.
Grandma likes playing with flowers and plants, especially planting herbs. Don't give up chickens and ducks to peck, don't give up children to step on, don't give up wind and rain. Every day when the sun goes down, grandma takes me to bring spring water to water them. After a few months, they grow up, pick them, wash them, dry them in the sun, and then put them away, so they don't give them away easily, so they have to keep them for me. When I was a child, my cough and excessive internal heat disappeared in these faint herbal scents.
Grandma can't forget her pigs, chickens and ducklings wherever she goes. No matter where she is, she will try her best to come back and feed them. Despite my hard work, apart from subsidizing my family, I can't bear to take a bite of that fat pig and chicken and send it to my bowl. Then he smiled at me and said happily, "Grandma is a vegetarian and doesn't eat meat."
When I reached school age, I was taken home by my parents. My grandmother sent me away happily, but secretly wiped her tears behind my back. A few years later, backward mountain villages also developed. My grandmother has a phone at home and is as happy as a child. She calls every day to say something, such as "When shall I eat some watermelon at home?" "There are many herbs at home, and I want to give them to you." "The pig at home is going to be slaughtered. Let's eat ... In short, no matter what she says, it will eventually turn to me.
Goodbye was the year before last, during the Chinese New Year. My grandmother's hair has turned silvery white again. Her legs and feet are hard to move, and her muddy eyes can't recognize people. However, when she hears my voice, she can still call out my name, hold my hand and tell me things that only she understands.
When I left that day, she struggled to send me to the village entrance. In the moonlight, grandma watched us leave as before, but her back was more rickety and her shadow was longer. A bright moon, a path and an old man, this faint picture is engraved in my memory. Love sometimes doesn't have to be preached loudly, ups and downs, vigorous, like a bright moon on a stone, gently and softly illuminate everyone's heart. I think there is a moon in everyone's heart, and so do I.