1
I recently read a book "The Code of Bohu". My heart couldn't help rippling with the blue water of that lake. The author was born and raised in Bohu Lake, a water town in southern Anhui. The water in his eyes is tender, poetic, childlike and homesick.
The author is a poet. In his poems, he writes: He always talks about those water/those blue, those cool/... grass swaying like smoke/fish flying like bullets .../He wants to talk happily and endlessly .../? If one day he stops talking/? Then he must have become the water/the blue and cool ...? The author was born in water, loved water, wrote in water, and finally melted into water. That drop of water in the lake flowed in the blood of his life.
Hometown is a pure land of the soul and a corner home of the spirit. No matter how far you go, you can't get out of her eyes. Just like the thread in the hands of a loving mother, it is inextricably linked and touches the soft sadness in my heart.
Hometown is beautiful. It is as beautiful as a painting, and the childhood in the painting is treasured in the depths of memory. Touch it gently, and you will find that everything you have experienced before: villages, rivers, mountain roads, trees, wells, even a rice basket tied with wire, a cat with a gray back lying on a woodpile, and three or two chickens "giggling" for food, all of which still exist, lying silently at the bottom of the pool, glowing with faint light, and swaying with a breeze. The river is crystal clear all year round, as if a gurgling spring emerged from an ancient and distant mountain stream, with the sweet smell of flowers and plants, gathering into a stream and flowing into a small river. On one side of the river are mountains and mountains, and on the other side are fireworks families with blue walls and black tiles. From generation to generation, green mountains and green waters. In the foothills surrounded by mountains, fields are scarce, and generations of people have cut mountains and reclaimed land, planted trees and tea, and planted grains to collect miscellaneous grains. Facing the loess and facing the sky, in the fateful sky, I have experienced many vicissitudes.
In my childhood world, looking for flowers, stepping on dew, herding cattle up the mountain and fishing in the river, this sky is undoubtedly a paradise on farming days. In the midsummer evening, my brother and his friends took a bath together in the river bend. I carried a small bucket and touched a small crab in the crevice of the stone. I wanted my brother to fish with me, and those naughty children splashed all over me.
3
Grandma was a woman who bound her feet in the old society, and she followed her old man when she could walk. Mother works hard outside, and grandmother takes care of the children and does housework at home. Grandma started to shake three times. I followed her, trying to walk from the left. She shook to the left and tried to cross from the right. She shook to the right, just not letting you jump to the front.
On a sunny afternoon, my grandmother would boil a pot of boiling water and put it in a wooden basin with high feet. Then she would sit on a squeaky bamboo chair in the courtyard, put the three-inch golden lotus on the edge of the basin, slowly shake off the smelly and long foot-binding cloth and soak her deformed feet. Grandma washes it almost once a month, and it takes an afternoon at a time. I squatted beside her and asked my grandmother curiously, "Does it hurt?"?
Grandma is as old as a dried walnut, and her eyes are full of a woman's years and frost. I looked up, and the unpredictable sunset glow in the western sky was colorful by a sunset. My grandmother said it was the clothes of the Seven Fairies. Immersed in the distant and mysterious story of my grandmother, I seem to understand, only dreaming that I can wear this ethereal cloud dress one day.
4
At the age of eight, my grandmother passed away. I take care of my four-year-old brother while I go to school. My chubby brother loves to ride horses, and I am willing to carry him all over the dust; Let's watch the ants move and the swallows nest together; Watch the wicker spinning, watch the seasonal flowers blooming, and we sprout and grow in spring.
Later, I went to middle school, and my brother went to the county to attend high school. At that time, the traffic was inconvenient. The first time I went to the town outside the mountain, I had to climb over a mountain and walk five kilometers on the township road. I don't know if I've heard too many grandmother's ghost stories. I'm afraid to cross the mountain alone. I'm always afraid that a ghost will jump out of the gloomy forest.
my mother left the farm work for me. There is a steep mountain road among the dense Woods. My mother took my hand and didn't feel afraid. There are finely chopped wild flowers along the roadside, and the stems and vines are bright and beautiful. Happily, there are often milky orchids sticking out their heads, spitting the fragrant fragrance, and running to caress the stamens. The rich fragrance has filled the body and mind.
My mother saw me off to the watershed, stood at the head of the ridge and called my name to see me go down the mountain. I went down to the foot of the mountain with my mother's voice calling, humming, "I'm from the mountain, with the fragrance of orchids ..." I came to school happily.
5
Time flies, and we can't keep the pace of time, just like the flowing water of a small river. The mother who was washing clothes by the river changed from a girl to a mother and a grandmother, and her hair was dyed into white hair. Finally, it turns into a wisp of light smoke and floats away. When I returned home, I didn't see my mother's expected figure. I was like a boat drifting, and I couldn't find a warm harbor ...
It's been a year since the grass was planted? March thirteenth