When the mountains and rivers in my hometown are beautifully dressed in spring, orioles and partridges will come one after another. Maybe one morning, it was the crisp and loud voice of the oriole that drove you to sleep. It is hidden in some big bubble trees in my backyard. If you stand under a tree, it is almost impossible to see its petite and beautiful image. Looks like it's going to play hide-and-seek with you. At this moment, even the sound can't be heard. It seems that the colors in the morning light are just to decorate my dreams. At this time, "the boudoir is lewd and easy to show people" is a bit interesting. However, this cute, timid child is quite small, only coughing, and it flies together, accompanied by its frightened chirping. At this time, the bright golden wings of the oriole are hazy in front of us, just between the branches and the blue sky, adding a landscape that is quite interesting in Chinese painting.
With the lingering sound of an oriole in my heart, I walked to the field, "Goo goo, goo goo ..." A deep and pleasant voice rang in my ear. In fact, in that lush green field, in that lush Artemisia grass, you can't see the partridge, but its crisp sound is rendered green by this eyeful of green, mixed with the charming sunshine in spring. At this time, there is no sadness of "a wanderer smells wet sleeves at first sight, and a lover whispers low eyebrows", and there is no sadness of "the river is sad at night, and the mountains are deep in the smell of partridges". I don't know if Du Yu listens to the sunset at the beginning of the month, but I chewed out a layer of poetry from it.
In the memory of my teenager, the color of my hometown used to be the sweet and sour taste of Li Tangguo and light red hairy hawthorn.
It was a difficult time to eat. I often pick some pears and hairy hawthorn to satisfy my hunger on my way to and from school. Of course, there are pheasant legs, crow petals and wild garlic. At that time, all these things grew on the hillside ridges in February and March, as if knowing that we especially liked them. Red flowers are colorful, and Ye Er has different postures. We also made up a jingle for them: "sour and sweet pear fruit is better than Xiantao fairy fruit;" Hairy hawthorn, chicken legs, put it on, and you won't be hungry; The petals of the old crow smell, and there are wild garlic. "However, some can be eaten in spring and summer, and some can't be cooked until autumn, such as Li Tang and Maozha.
Pears grow on pear trees. This kind of tree grows in Shan Ye or on the ridge of a field. Spring has come, and it casually blooms broken purple flowers. It seems that there are more flowers than leaves, floating on the green leaves like clouds, and flowers are clustered. Then it bears many fruits, all as big as beads. At first it was light green, and after a summer, it gradually turned into black and purple. When we pass by, there are such fruits hanging in the sun at will. We always pay attention to them, and no one will disturb them when they are immature. I seem to be in a hurry, and I'll be familiar as soon as I get to Qiu Lai. Our friends will pick them one by one, one tree at a time, and always save some for next time. As soon as the pear was put into the mouth, the thick dark black pulp was almost insensitive and melted immediately. Through the tip of the tongue, the sweet and mellow taste is incomparable to the fruits I have tasted so far. I have been to many places and always pay special attention to whether there is this kind of hometown fruit, but I have never seen it once. Maybe it only grows in our hometown of Shan Ye! Hairy hawthorn, short, always crouching in the grass, ripe, hanging on every thorny branch, shy as a crimson light bulb at night, although it tastes worse than pears, it has more pulp and is suitable for quick-acting "belly". Today, we often wash the fruits we buy and put them in exquisite utensils to show their flavor. I don't know if this hometown fruit can receive such courtesy.
No one praises good colors, whether pears, hawthorn or their companions. But with the passage of time, they have become emotional symbols of my hometown memory. I don't know if it's because of my age, or if I have always had a hometown complex. I sometimes think of it in the sunset in Qiu Guang, sometimes in the drizzle at dusk, sometimes in the moonlit night, sometimes in the poems of Tang and Song Dynasties, with a little homesickness.
In fact, I have been wandering outside for decades during the Spring and Autumn Period. Now, my hometown always feels like ink painting in my memory. After the spring rain, the sky is sometimes clear and ethereal, sometimes it is like the fragrance in the mountains, sometimes the flowers in Ruo Ling shine on the water, and the dragonflies fly away in the dissolved spring ... In the meantime, I sometimes think of my old father's figure of "green bamboo hat, no need to return to the oblique wind and drizzle". ......
The color of my hometown will always be like a fairy tale, and I will always cherish it in my heart.