Yu wrote in "Where is the Hometown Pass" that homesickness can often be reflected in a river bend, a few small trees and half a piece of moss. In the past, I thought that a wanderer missed homesickness so vividly, but in recent days, because of homesickness, I couldn't help but think of this sentence again. It's just that my homesickness is not limited to a river bend, small trees or moss, but the lights of countless villages at dusk.
The light is the brightest eye in the village and the silent interlocutor in the dark. When the sun rises in the evening, the countryside is gradually swallowed up by the darkness. At this time, one family in a village will light up the first light, so another family will light up, and another village will light up, one by one, all of them will light up. They appreciate each other, comfort each other and protect each other until a small village sleeps. It is easy to be pierced by the sudden barking of dogs, piercing the villages lying in the world. A lamp suddenly woke up, a dog barked and got up, and a village woke up; The lights through the doors and windows rushed to the distance enthusiastically, so another light woke up and another village woke up. The lights through the doors and windows still rushed to the distance enthusiastically, and village after village, neighbors, big and small, woke up.