My hometown is located at the foot of the beautiful Jinhuaping. From the top of the mountain, Jinhua Ping looks like a kind mother, lying there asleep, holding her child, my hometown.
My memory of my hometown is related to my father first.
What I remember most is my father and his June.
June of the lunar calendar is the season of wheat yellow, and the endless golden color is the father's watch. My brother and I were distressed that my dad got up at five in the morning and went home with the stars at night, so we secretly followed my dad. My father was afraid that I would get a tan, so he built a small house with wheat for me to play in. And my father didn't stop for a moment until he turned that golden piece into bundles of wheat straw. Year after year, year after year, unconsciously, my father was old, and in June, my father and his rusty sickle were forgotten. I think June is probably the loneliest time of my father's year. My childhood, along with my father's youth, was lost in the distant past. Now my father is a little old, like a child, willful, stubborn and a little cute, which makes me pity and give up. Even watching my father and daughter close, talking and laughing, I couldn't help but burst into tears.
Recalling my hometown, I have to mention the water in my hometown.
The water in my hometown is so sweet that I can still feel the tip of my tongue in My Sweetie. There is a spring in the village, and a clear spring gurgles out and twists and turns. There is a stone fence next to the spring, because the water is deep-probably for fear that children will fall into the water. The fence is very beautiful. I like to see its reflection in the water, because it will change into various postures as the water moves. Willows are planted around spring and flourish. I prefer spring water in summer. I put my foot into the flowing stream outside, and the coolness seeped into my heart. But my greatest pleasure is the fish swimming around in spring. When I was young, my partner and I were very patient. When the naughty fish accidentally swam out of the exit under the fence, they struggled to catch it with a bottle and take it home. Under my careful care, this fish will live for a long time. There are several springs in the village, one of which is the largest. Every year on the eighth day of the fourth lunar month, many devout men and women come to the spring to pray and burn a column of incense in the temple by the spring.
The beauty of hometown lies not only in its springs. There is a road through the village. There are green crops on one side of the road. Crops used to be a forest. After the rain, many mushrooms will break through the ground and become our delicious food. There is a clear river flowing on the cobblestone bed by the Woods. Of course, this refers to summer. Boys will go down to the river to take a good bath, and girls will play in the river with their pants up. If you are lucky, you will find some eggs in the cracks in the stones by the river, or catch birds. When it was getting dark, it was put back in place with the scolding of adults. At school, I like reading. I often get up early on weekends, go to the Woods to read books and recite English words. The river in winter is not lonely at all. Skating is a hobby of children. When the river freezes, the children will have fun, too.
Most of my memories of my hometown are in the spacious wheat fields in the village. When I was a child, I played crazy with a dozen friends and never knew when I would go home. In my memory, that night was the happiest time. I can play many tricks with sandbags. I was reluctant to leave the wheat field under the cover of my friends until I saw my father holding a small bamboo pole and asking me to eat it. Then friends leave one after another in the search of adults. The night in the wheat field is beautiful and noisy. At that time, the moonlight was warm and we were surrounded by big people.
Wheat fields are busiest at harvest time. Uncle is a master at stacking wheat bales. I followed him to pile wheat sheaves, stood on the tall wheat sheaves and watched the people on the ground get smaller. Suddenly, I felt an inexplicable excitement in my heart, as if I were standing on the top of the world. There are several big apricot trees on the edge of the wheat field. When the wheat is ripe, so are the apricots. We will pick them all when adults are not looking. Unconsciously, we grow up and can't hear innocence. The old man who piled wheat is old, no one can pile tall wheat, and there are not so many piles of wheat in the wheat field. My uncle is lonely. The wheat field is lonely, too. Since then, I have never heard such a touching story or eaten such sweet apricots.
There is also an ancient water mill at the head of the village. I wonder when it was built. The huge wooden wheel was pushed by the turbulent water and made a loud noise. I think all the gods in the sky can hear it. When the stone mill on the wheel turns slowly, I don't know why, but I always envy the owner of the mill. Because he can stand in the mill and look at the turbulent water and the spinning wheels below. The mill is connected with a house, which is an oil mill. Pieces of cake were pushed out from the inside. Now that I think about it, I'm a little old. I don't know when, when I went home again, the water mill disappeared, the oil mill disappeared, and the surging water disappeared with it, so that I thought it was just a dream.
Every corner of my hometown has left my footprints and back. My memory is always full of bits and pieces of my hometown. As time goes on, it becomes clearer and harder to shake. I always dream about the mountains and water in my hometown. The mountains and rivers are beautiful, and the dreams wake up. People will no longer ... the wheat fields and water mills in my hometown will disappear forever in the years like my childhood, but they are my eternal dreams that will never wake up. ...