Beautiful lyrical prose about hometown 1
When I grow up, there is no spring, summer or autumn in my hometown.
——Inscription
"The voice outside the mountains is broken, and winter comes back to spring. I am more timid when I am close to my hometown, and I dare not ask people." It is like this every time I return home. In my opinion, Song Zhiwen from the distant Tang Dynasty was indeed my close friend. He left his hometown when he was young and studied for many years. He was idle and wasted his time running around. Now that he is nearly 30 years old, he has done little. He is very fond of returning home but is afraid of seeing his old friends. I looked up at the road ahead, surrounded by undulating mountains, which was becoming more and more winding and bumpy; the road surface was also becoming more bumpy and bumpy, and sitting in the car was a bit bumpy. It was beating up and down like my heart: we are almost there. . Walking along the narrow road through green fruit trees, you can see several scattered red buildings.
Walking on the small road, I saw that most of the fruit trees have begun to bear fruit, with only scattered white flowers. When I get closer and smell it, the familiar and familiar fragrance hits my nostrils. Saying hello with an authentic local accent and warmly makes the whole person feel much more relaxed and at ease; but sometimes "children don't know each other when they see each other, and they laugh and ask where the guest is from."
"A man comes riding a bamboo horse, Playing with green plums around the bed, living together for a long time, the childhood sweethearts guessed." These are just memories. Siheyan was my paradise in the hot summer when I was a child. A group of restless friends, big and small, whistled and invited friends to go to the Siheyan water to relieve the heat. "Plop, plop" into the water, or swim in a race to see who can swim faster and further, or dive, jump off a few meters of embankment and enjoy the thrill of colliding with the water; or play, two or three people try their luck The small ones are brought into the middle of the river, of course, just to help them learn to swim faster; if they are hungry, they go to the fields to pick up sheep, and peanuts and citrus are delicious. Pine Mountain, when I was a kid, there were many trees and birds, and a few crazy kids running around all over the mountain.
Sometimes I shoot birds with a slingshot, and on a whim I go up a tree to dig out a bird's nest. Of course, most of the time I just look at the baby birds, but I don't know how to remove them, because I know they won't be able to feed them. When there is wind in spring, you can make a kite by yourself using rice, harder paper, and bamboo slices, then take it to the top of the mountain and fly it. Sitting on the haystack, with the breeze blowing on your back, you can watch the kite getting higher and higher. Thoughts drift into the distance, bringing people reverie and comfort. At night, if the weather is too hot, go to the roof to look at the stars and the moon. Frankly speaking, after searching for so many years, I still don’t know which North Star is; however, a few people were having a good time waving cattail fans and chatting about homely things, or they were lying on the roof, listening to the sounds of frogs and enjoying the sounds of nature.
When I was a child, my childhood sweethearts either grew up and married in other places, and were unable to return home, or they traveled all over the country, north, south, and east and west in order to make a living. A gentleman is always a guest in a foreign land when he is in military service or wandering around in bamboo sticks and mango shoes. He is most afraid of the wild geese returning home, so he has to look at the moon to relieve his melancholy.
Now that I realize that "the moon is the brightness of my hometown", maybe my eyes are filled with tears. Beautiful Lyrical Prose of Hometown 2
On the twenty-seventh of the twelfth lunar month, I once again returned to the hometown that haunts me - Guojiapo.
Along the friendly path, stepping on the scattered cannon debris, I arrived at my dusty home. The courtyard is deep and the old house is empty, and all that comes into view is a mess. Suddenly, my heart dropped to below zero, and an indescribable melancholy instantly filled the place called the Left Bank in my chest.
Looking at the ruins, I can only feel lonely in the depths of my memory, bit by bit salvaging the happiness I once had in my hometown nursing home...
That is a material thing In the red era of scarcity, we stood in the courtyard at the four corners of the high walls of our hometown, hungry but full of energy, filling every corner of our hometown with songs and laughter. The old house in my memory is a wall that resists wind and frost, built by my father with his strong arms; the old house in my memory is a bowl of boiling poached eggs, built by my mother with her warm embrace. However, today I am a complete prodigal, far away from my friends in my hometown, holding my light dreams, and devoting myself to other people's cities, wandering around like a rootless duckweed.
That year, when I fell ill alone in the no-man’s land on the border of Yunnan, I shed tears looking at the grim face of the God of Death. The reason why I shed tears was not that I was afraid of dying, but that I was afraid of death. In that black land thousands of miles away from my hometown, no one collected my body and took my soul back to my hometown. At that moment, I was heartbroken. I really wanted to go back to my far away hometown!
Looking at the dusty old house and the familiar household items, I thought of my grandmother with her silver hair and little feet who always had a kind look on her face. my father. But now, they have abandoned me long ago. They have said goodbye to the old house for many years and are sleeping in a corner of Guojiapo, my hometown. Facing the old house, I want to say: Time, please wait, wait some more!
Every time I return home, I always think about leaving myself behind, taking over the shoulder pole that bent my ancestors’ waist, polishing my father’s rusty plow, and remaking the fossilized loess. Plowing the fields one by one, living the kind of quiet and mediocre happy life described in the Book of Songs as "My wife and my mother live in the south"! But thinking about it in my spare time is just nonsense after all. After twenty years of living in the world of mortals, I have already developed some of the mysophobia of the city and cannot swallow the soil of my hometown. And I am, after all, a kite, and my hometown is the thread holding my weak soul.
This place that has given me so many smiles also contains too many indelible memories for me.
Tonight, I walked beside it again, under the albizia tree in the primary school, and I could no longer hear the crisp singing. In the playground where we had played hide-and-seek and played sandbags, it was no longer possible to find those familiar figures. Only a mountain moon was left, shining coldly on me who was alone and thin... Time, it is so much. Like a sculptor with a magical axe, everything is changed beyond recognition in the blink of an eye! True love, why do we always know it after we lose it? The innocent childlike interest and flying passion will also pass away with the rings of the years. The first heart and the truest dream have been lost to the wheels of time without knowing when. Crushed on the way to growth.
In anticipation, the firecrackers to remove the old and welcome the new finally began to explode all night long. The incense candles exuded warm and auspicious light on New Year’s Eve, the gongs and drums shook the mountains, and the distant hometown was dressed up like A bride to be married, every gesture and gesture contains bursts of inexplicable joy.
Brothers and sisters who have returned from all over the world, reunited after a long separation, lit up cigarettes, filled glasses of wine, and told stories about the past and us who were always innocent and young in the past. Tonight, let us drink heartily, without saying anything, without saying anything. Raise a glass, my brother, my younger brother, my dear brothers and sisters, tonight, you will not return until you are drunk! Let us lie down in the fragrant wine bowl of our hometown and sleep peacefully!
The hour of departure was approaching moment by moment. At Fa Xiaohuzi’s suggestion, we climbed the sacred mountain ridge in our hearts together.
For many years, climbing the ladder has always been a long-cherished wish in my heart. Many times, I have wanted to take a walk on the mountain ridges of my hometown and carefully measure the distance between me and my hometown. I thought I was a person who didn’t care much, but it wasn’t until the moment I stepped onto the beam that I realized that I actually cared too much!
We wandered on the beam, stopped and walked, talked and looked at the villages and ravines that were familiar in the past but now so unfamiliar... but our hearts were like broken condiments, with mixed flavors. No more transparent tears could be squeezed out of those eyes as clear as spring eyes; so many excited roars in those golden years could only be replaced by a sad and helpless smile. Time is so much like our own shadow. When we lower our heads and look carefully, we can't believe it. It is the shadow of our own confusion.
Hu Zi said that climbing high and looking far away is the most touching scene. Maybe you have already written a good poem? I smiled and told him that I haven't written my crappy poems for a long time. I'm not a poet. I wasn't before, I'm not now, and I definitely won't be in the future, I think.
Standing on the head of the Western Liang, stepping on the sprouting sedge in early spring, looking at the renovated ancient temple and the several stern pines and cypresses in the ancient temple, I remembered a poem by Gu Cheng: " I am not a barnyard grass, always dry and prosperous. I am not an old temple, merciless through the ages."
I looked up to the sky, and under the vast sky, an unknown bird flew across the sky, covered with rust. The sun splashed all over the floor. I am lost. In my memory, the sky in my hometown always has fine clouds, and the bright sunshine always lays it out and flows...
And I am leaving after all, far away from my hometown again, I still hold my light dream and travel through other people's cities.
Waving my hand, I cast my thin back to my hometown, but the mountains of my hometown made me smaller. The further I walked, my figure on the horizon turned into a long exclamation mark!