If it weren't for the gentle wind and drizzle, I don't know the change of seasons; If it weren't for willow green and peach red, I still don't know the prosperity of life; If you hadn't driven the children to the Woods and fields, I wouldn't have stood at the end of time and looked back at my lost childhood.
I remember lying in bed lazily in the early summer morning, watching the returning swallows nest in the mud under the eaves and rest on the clothesline. I know my parents are selling their hard work in the field at this time. So I got up with a hazy uneasiness, swept away the dust in the house with shame, and then put a bunch of lilacs in a water bottle to raise a long-awaited joy and comfort for my parents.
Childhood, growing slowly in lilacs.
I remember one noon in early summer, when the tired people fell asleep stagger, a person carrying a few clips lay in ambush in the depths of the forest to frame colorful birds, then went to the shallow river to force out panicked frogs, and then went to the grass, fields, to find dandelion flowers and garlic heads. Colorful Yuan Ye is full of novelty and temptation, and the light heart is full of joy composed of the sadness of birds and the fragrance of flowers.
Childhood, growing up slowly in freedom.
I remember that in the early summer evening, I was still chewing the unfinished rice fragrance in my mouth, so I rushed out of the house, called my unfamiliar playmates, twisted Artemisia and willow branches on my head, and used the bent dead branches as pistols to crawl in the Woods. Behind the ruins, killing each other and attacking each other. Let the hoarse gunshots drool, and let the diffuse dust fill the opposing space. Don't go home slowly until the night is deep.
Childhood, growing up slowly in the game.
Standing in the night sky in early summer, look up at the Beidou to see if the handle of the spoon points to the other side, then look for the cowherd and the weaver girl on the bank of the Tianhe River, then quietly squat down under the fragrant tree, secretly listen to the whispers of "lovers", and gradually daydream and forget in the ancient and magical legend.
Childhood, growing up slowly in fantasy.
Suddenly, the train of time came to this station. Childhood is gone and time is gone. I sat in the old house of time, quietly watching the lilacs bloom again, watching the bride come and go in early summer, but I couldn't make her stop for a minute. We are not grooms in early summer, and we don't know how to cherish the once-in-a-lifetime marriage that the season has given us.