In life, everyone is most familiar with the place where he was born and raised in Sri Lanka. Although I joined the army with a weak crown and spent more than 2 years in a fiery military camp, the most unforgettable thing is my childhood and adolescence in my hometown. That leisurely wind, fluttering snow, rain in succession, faint flowers, dewdrops, faint fireflies, shining starlight, gentle morning fog, curling kitchen smoke, crow of chickens, buzzing buzzes, winding mountain roads, green bamboo forests, hometown scenery and folk customs are inextricably linked, always lingering, that is, swallows and happiness.
In the book Autumn Scenery in My Hometown, there are my own experiences and feelings, and many of them are really about my grandfather and parents. Of course, some of them told me. In rural China, information is not developed enough, and people often pass on the history of the countryside with the tip of their tongue. They haven't read too many books, but they have a good memory. The events of decades ago can be explained in detail, vividly and infectious. Their minds are filled with vivid characters, countless stories, and the story of a village. I like listening to stories. In their affectionate stories, there is the heartbeat, breathing and pulsation of the village, which makes those simple doors and windows and ancient bricks beautiful and vivid.
During the Qingming Festival in 23, my mother completed the last journey of her life. Ten years later, in 213, this collection was compiled into a book. My first thought was to dedicate it to my hardworking and kind mother. My record is gratitude, to my mother, to my village and to the land that raised me. I want to keep a son's deep memory and yearning for his mother and hometown through my records. This is a cultural root-seeking, spiritual homecoming. The humanistic spirit contained in the hometown, the indelible cultural imprint and the living conditions of our ancestors should be remembered by future generations. Whether it is ashes or ruins, we should not forget that it used to be the residence of many souls, and countless joys and sorrows, love and hate have been performed there. Perhaps, under the ashes and ruins, the genes of life, the fire of thought and beautiful dreams are buried.
every time I go home, I see an old house that is a little shabby and a decaying old garden, and I can't help wandering around and looking for it. I asked myself: What am I looking for? What have I lost? In a trance, I seem to want to find some precious things in life, such as perseverance in suffering, nobleness in poverty, faith in the snow, yearning in confusion, and affection in hardship. I don't want the wind of the city to break the holy lotus in the heart lake; I don't want to let the gloom of my thoughts obscure the faint candlelight of my heart. I really want to keep the laughter in front of the hut firewood instead of the loneliness in the high-rise Hua Ting; I really want the breeze in the bamboo forest to blow away the noise on the road; I really want to cast a net and salvage the bright starlight that fell to the bottom of the river. Ridge, river bank, mud, stone, I hope to redecorate my mature but broken heart window with rough and hard. I am looking for simplicity, looking for youth, and looking for those life conditions that have been rare or even no longer exist in my hometown.
Sometimes when I return to my hometown, I will meet my childhood friends and classmates in primary school or middle school by chance. Although I haven't seen them for many years, when I reach middle age, I shake hands and greet them excitedly, smile happily, and call each other old birth names and nicknames regardless of my status. Their intimacy is indescribable and utilitarian, just like innocence when I was young. Our thoughts pass through the past, and each other enjoys the joy and warmth of that memory with lust. This kind of scene is a rare sight in a city where the same building is not in contact with each other. The characters recorded in the book, except relatives, are mostly folks who have had some contacts with me. Their different behaviors, different personalities and different fates have woven a picture of the world of life. These characters can be found in any village in China. After reading them, you may be stunned: This person looks familiar. Yes, these mortals can be seen everywhere. Their joys and sorrows cannot be separated from the big times; The brightness and flaws of human nature shown in them are all branded with history. Even those who have done wrong things, stupid things, and even evil things have hurt others, some out of ignorance and some out of blind obedience.
hometown, hometown, is the source of my life; Shan Ye bamboo forest, rural buildings, is the soil of my soul. Everyone has his own source and soil of life, where people and things make you dream. Countless streams from the source have merged into rivers and rivers, and they have merged into a vast China. The appearance and change of a village, in a sense, is the epitome of the appearance and change of a land. Now, the stories that happened there are bitter, sour, painful and even absurd, but they all happened really and truly, and they are part of the long survival history of the whole village.
I often go home to have a look, not only because of morality and affection, but also because of the need to improve myself. Home, including your loved ones, also includes your hometown, familiar mountains and fields, and moss-covered steps in front of the door. Looking back at the past, we can cherish today and gain insight into the future, which will make us more clear-headed. Only by remembering homesickness and not forgetting the truth can we strengthen the roots of life.
Hometown, a remote village in Luotian, eastern Hubei, is a name engraved in my mind and flowing in my blood. In the fields with green grasses, the hills with lush trees, and the ravines with wild flowers, a clear spring with a poetic rhythm is flowing all day long. Maybe it will flow to you one day, and it will definitely make you feel excited and unforgettable.