Author: Xu Lu The first light rain The first light rain in spring fell into the green woods. I walked alone between the woods, and my ears were filled with many faint mysteries and beauty. The green camphor leaves are breathing softly, and the young bamboo shoots burst out from the center of the earth silently. Countless mushrooms are like small white umbrellas. Mother once told us that their names are swan mushrooms. The skylarks are jumping from this branch like musical notes. Up to that point, their songs are sweet and charming. The dew is shining and slipping quietly. The light mist is like soft white gauze. The whole nature is like a piece of music. The spring forest is a piano of life. They play beautiful music and poetry gently. The old mill gently hit my fourteen-year-old heart full of fantasy. I don’t know why people want to demolish that old mill. We stood far away in the corner and silently built another one to remember in my childhood heart. I remember many winter evenings when my mother called us home from here to put on more clothes so as to remember the many poor days. Our friends gathered in a circle here and ate the small warm winter rice candy that our mother gave us. The silvery rainy night was bright. A voice called in the rain. It was unclear which child's face it was. On a night covered with silver rain silk, he called loudly. Another friend in the night rain walked into his little umbrella. What a beautiful voice it was, like a row of boats. The sound of the night-breaking song came suddenly in the rainy night and was even warmer than the song. I couldn't see how the two hearts were leaning together and how the two small shadows were walking side by side along the muddy path. Step by step, I just feel that the voice of this middle school student is so beautiful, like the beautiful lilacs swaying in spring in the rain... Grandpa's winter. Winter is the season of silence. Grandpa always sits alone by the wall in winter, silently using the sunshine. Gentle hands caressed his walnut-like old face like a kind mother caressing her beloved child. Winter is the season of falling snow. Snowflakes are flying like mysterious white butterflies from the distant heaven. My grandfather talked about his childhood in the quiet snowy night. His story told me that he was as happy as a child and his heart was filled with infinite warmth, just like when we suddenly remembered the spring outing in the sad days. In fact, no one knows what grandpa was thinking about in the winter, but his story told me that he left himself My childhood and my hometown are already very, very far away... Who will listen to your gentle whispers in the mountain village alma mater? When the rosy sunset falls gracefully, who will share your joy and noise? When the crystal leaf dew and the faint white smoke are the children's laughter , the long chant of wild geese fills your glorious morning again... Ah, everything wants to stay here. When you nurture us to grow up, I only want to take away a leaf flute and a heart of eternal honesty and passion. My heart goes to the distance to sing for you... Ah, I want to take everything away, including the fragrance of the mountains and fields around you, every patch of grass and every grove of your trees, the sound of the morning and evening bells that call us every day is still there. There are those imaginary white clouds that are as bright as tin foil rising slowly from the distant mountains... (originally published in "People's Literature" Issue 7, 1988)