Read the following and answer the questions.
Childhood Made of Clay
Bao Limin
①I walked along the shade of Dongfang Mountain, escaping from the heat of the sun, and walked past the tree in the shade. The spotted dog stuck out its tongue, passed by the two white pigs that kept digging at the base of the wall, and came to the corner of the north garden behind the house. Several friends were waiting there, the sun was shining elsewhere, and the soft mud was deforming in the hands of a few hands, continuing the ancient game.
②The earth wall you are leaning on is like the earth standing up, with some unknown small grass growing there, and the grass foam mixed in the earth exudes a faint smell. Our laughter flew past the flying insects and reptiles around us, climbed on the transparent wings of dragonflies, climbed on the colorful wings of butterflies, and flew leisurely across the short grid on the wall. We sat on the dirt and played in the mud happily. Whoever smashes the mud makes a loud noise, and the holes are bigger. The mud splashes, as if happiness is constantly exploding.
③After throwing enough mud bubbles, they use mud to make toys. A small car only has flies as passengers, and a small house only has ants coming in and out. In the hot August wind, we played with the elves on the earth. In the afternoon, people in the house are sleeping soundly. Together with the wind, the sunshine, and various insects and birds, we guard simple happiness.
④Noises began to appear in every house. First, people got enough sleep and went to work in the fields with hoes on their shoulders. The small river not far away flows clearly, filled with laughter and laughter. At this time, we moved to the edge of the field, sat on the ridge, pulled off a few dogtail grass, and braided it into small furry animals.
⑤The soil under our buttocks is getting hotter and hotter. We will run to the river, take off our clothes, and rush into the coolness. I am very nostalgic for the feeling of my feet stepping on the soft mud at the bottom of the river. A gentle itch, a touch of warmth, and a slight slipperiness flow into my heart. Many years later, I will remember it. Just like remembering the small river that filled us with happiness, no matter how far away we are, when we think about it, we will linger endlessly.
⑥A heavy rain came unexpectedly, washing the world into a cool and fresh place. While bright drops of water were still seeping out from the cuts of the grass stems on the eaves, the yard was already made muddy by the little guys. The pit dug by two white pigs was filled with mud and water. They lay side by side in it, humming happily. The ducks lowered their bodies and flapped their wings, running from one end to the other as if playing in the water. And a few chicks were curiously using their sharp beaks to peck at the shining rainbow in the small bubble.
⑦We rushed out of the yard, our footsteps pressed against the mud. Just as Uncle Waibo was returning with his sheep, the sound of the sheep's hooves made mud and water splash everywhere. After passing through this group of teams that no longer distinguish between black and white, the road is no longer what it looks like. We came to the creek or small pond formed in the low place. The soil on the bank was moist and soft, turning into a small bridge and a dam in our hands. They wait for the sun to harden them, and then the puddles behind them disappear. They stand blankly in the sun, not knowing what they are guarding.
⑧We knead happiness into the mud. One day when the mud dries, we accidentally step on it and it breaks into pieces. The laughter slips out, and the past slips out too. Between the cessation of a rain, between the filling and drying up of accumulated water, and between the dryness and softness of mud, we merged our childhood into the wet years.
⑨The sun poured down, leaving streaks of sweat on my father’s forehead. My father was wrestling with a large pile of mud. He was stirring the mud with the two teeth in his hand, trying to mix the mud, water, grass or wheat husks together as much as possible. Mixing clay is an extremely tiring job, like squeezing different seasons together. After the mud is mixed, it is filled into a rectangular mold and solidified piece by piece into a thick light yellow color, waiting to be built into tall and straight walls.
⑩ Sometimes, the sun pours down, and we children are sweating profusely. We mix the mud carefully, but it has another purpose. Choose very fine soil, preferably loess, add a little sand, then mix water and mud, and knead the mud evenly and finely. Then, roll the reconciled mud into countless mud balls the size of glass balls and put them in the sun to dry. This is the important thing for us boys, the bullets we carry with us. Everyone has a homemade slingshot, and their pockets are filled with hardened clay bullets. In those years, we shot countless mud bombs into the sky, and we didn’t know where they landed. And those scattered mud bombs back then are just like the past events in today’s memories. I searched for them bit by bit in the depths of the years. Every time I found one, I felt infinite joy. Childhood is far away, and so is that land, but the initial construction of the soil will not be washed away by the waves of time. The fragrance of earth is our symbol, our imprint. No matter how long or far we have gone, it can still bring our hearts back to the place where we started.