Eating fireworks and keeping a faint taste of life, the crayons of time will always write every step they have taken. Those ramblings, those lightness, those gains, and those happiness are all attributed to the bags of life. A full life, no regrets, heavy and wonderful.
"When young people leave home, the local accent will not change. When a child meets a stranger, he will smile and ask where the guest is from. " When I get home, I always tease myself with such poems. Walking into a village that was once so familiar and now so strange, it seems that everything in the village is changing and some people no longer know it.
A wide cement road leads directly to the village, and four-wheeled vehicles have replaced our feet. The bluestone path left by those ancestors has long been covered with weeds. In many places, it is impossible to get out of the foot and enter the body, and everything has become a deep-rooted dormant story. A few years ago, I always wanted to experience the road I walked when I was a child. I gave up a good car and walked from the city to the village where I grew up. It's just that people in the village always have a strange expression. Over the years, walking has become less and less, and those roads are no longer like roads. Perhaps, "if there are fewer people walking, there will be no road."
When I arrived at the entrance to the village, I saw that the original village appearance had changed. The towering trees planted by our ancestors were cut down at some unknown time. When I was young, under the big tree, children sat in groups of three and five and played on the roots high above. Catch dragonflies, catch ants, play house, have a happy childhood, and those laughter will never stop ringing. When I first came to the village, I couldn't see the village from the outside, and it was all covered by those big trees. At that time, villages with cultural heritage and historical origins would be like this. According to my father, this is a connotation of China's geomantic conception for thousands of years. It's called Feng Shui, and it also contains many scientific principles. In the past, a village and a farmhouse were never directly exposed to people's sight. There are always trees at the entrance to the village, and houses are generally blocked by walls. The entrance to the village is a reservoir. I remember when I was a child, every winter, after releasing water to catch fish, every household could share several pieces, which became delicious on the Chinese New Year table. After the big trees at the entrance of the village were cut down, the dam of the reservoir was completely exposed. Now a stone dam has been built on the dam surface, which looks much more beautiful, but it has completely lost its previous charm.
Standing in the village, the whole village has a panoramic view. As far as ravines are concerned, this is a big village with thousands of people. The whole village is a tile-roofed house with wooden structure in the south of the Yangtze River, which looks very neat. Occasionally, there will be a small thatched cottage, which will be used as a woodshed in the corner. In such a village, fire prevention is the common sense of all villagers. Earlier, when I was in the field or came back from going out, I always saw the smoke rising from the village, urging people to go home. At that time, many families in the village remained unchanged for decades, living in such a corner, without disputes and troubles, and the satisfaction of life would be written on everyone's face.
These years, the village seems to be changing every day. The outside world is always so wonderful, people's hearts become lively, and young people in the village are always eager to go out. There are no people left in the village now. The original appearance of this village has completely changed. The neat farmhouse in the past no longer exists, and the uninhabited old houses have been in disrepair for a long time, and some have collapsed. The village seems to be falling apart, giving people a feeling of depression and desolation. Not far from the village entrance, several houses are conspicuous, with three or four floors of cement structure and colored wall tiles on the outer wall, which look very high-grade. These make people feel that the changes in the village are moving forward, and people see some hope.
Walking into the village, the roads paved with stone slabs and pebbles are paved with cement in many places, which has become a village road combining ancient and modern times, which is out of place with those antique old houses. The biggest change is probably the change of mountains and rivers. In the village, several wells that have fed generations have been abandoned and replaced by tap water drawn from the mountains. The large paddy fields left by our ancestors were hardly cultivated, and some places became mountains and forests. I remember when I was a child, my elders always said that you must be diligent and never let the fields go to waste. In those years, walking on the side of the road and seeing which field had weeds, people must make fun of it. The once sparse mountain forest is now lush. The change of the world, through the sunshine between cracks, through the time and space in the fog, through those old houses with broken walls and mottled tiles. I was deeply moved. My ancestors used their lives to explain the end of time, wrote down the years on that land, and continued to write their hard past, leaving a memory for future generations that can never be erased. A few years later, it is difficult to see the rise of kitchen smoke in the village now. Many farmers' firewood stoves have not been used much, and every family has liquefied gas stoves. Probably, the old will always be replaced by the new, no matter how reluctant we are.
Where the smoke rises is home. When I was a child, I often waited for the smoke from the kitchen and imagined that person sitting in front of the stove and setting off fireworks every day, because there was such a person who had a perfect and happy home. How many years have passed, the wisps of smoke hovering on the roof, delicious food, chopsticks on the table, a piece of wood, a scene and a shadow can't be erased.
In the early morning, the smoke from kitchen chimneys rises like a poem, accompanied by a little fog, and slowly stretches in the hazy sky. The beginning of a day, the hope of a day. At noon, the weather is fine, the smoke from the kitchen is thin and continuous, scattered on the ground, breathing the air with grass fragrance, making everyone feel warm and harmonious. At dusk, smoke from kitchen chimneys is everywhere, and the sunset shines on the mountain behind the village, with waves of golden yellow, accompanied by washed moonlight, and the shepherd boy who comes home late plays the bamboo flute. Working people, carrying a day's harvest on their shoulders, returned to the place where the smoke rose, and the air was filled with a strong local flavor. Everything is weaving a wonderful life, bearing the footprints of every generation.
Be grateful for life, cherish warmth, know how to appreciate, and release beautiful life safely. On the road of life, no matter how far you go, no matter who you meet, no matter what kind of scenery you see, how many past events will disappear. What I can't erase is homesickness, and what I can't forget is the place where the smoke rises. Time flies, the world is ups and downs, misty rain, always beyond the world of mortals. Everyone will have such a knot in their heart. This is the old road, saying goodbye to time every day. Decades, too hasty, just the initial appearance, always unforgettable. When I was alone, I stood quietly by the window, thinking about the past, thinking about the past, thinking about the road I walked, thinking about the person who once sat in front of the stove and lit the kitchen smoke. I can't help bursting into tears. There is indeed a lot of helplessness in life. Qingshan is still there, and it disappears, leaving only endless thoughts.
"Where is the remote night person, the travel notes of Chengtan in the middle of the month; The sky is vast and I am eager for my hometown. " China people's concept of returning to their roots has remained unchanged for thousands of years. The day when I left home, the strong feeling of going home, can't be explained in words. In the depths of time, I will always pursue, pursue distant memories, pursue distant shadows, and pursue lost relatives. In the cycle of flowers blooming and falling, in the round trip of spring, summer, autumn and winter, how many stories have been sealed and read. A friendship is beautiful, and an ink is written in spring and autumn. Time flies, time flies, and I feel nostalgic for the smoke in the distance.