1
Many years ago, when I was still in Xianyang, I lived in a place called Mangliu Village. You must be like me, wondering why you are so named. In the village, except for one family who has a half-crazy and half-stupid son, there is a contractor who often defaults on the wages of workers including his father. In fact, there is nothing special, and no hooligans have been seen. Maybe it has other names, just like the village next door named Xiaojiabao.
I have asked a lot of people what the real name of this village is, but it didn't come to an end, so I never explored it again. Now that I think about it, I think I didn't ask the indigenous villagers. At that time, once someone asked me where I lived, I would prevaricate that it was next door to Xiaojiabao. I am afraid to shout out my name and let others think that I am a small villager in a rogue's nest; Or meet someone as curious as me, and I can't give an answer.
At the entrance of Mangliu Village, there is a pile of stones all the year round. According to mothers, it was piled up after the nearby construction site was abandoned, and no one moved them away again. This has become one of the good places for our friends. At first, it was because I wanted to play catch. Everyone will rush to look for suitable stones: neither too big nor too small, neither too round nor too square, and they should match the size of their hands perfectly. This kind of stone is not easy to find. If it is used conveniently, no one is willing to throw it away. Stones covered with earth dust rub against your body, and then you rub your wet palms twice, which means you give them a bath. When I meet them, I will proudly shake them in front of my eyes: "Look, how decent my equipment is!"
speaking of which, I'm not interested in this game. The rules of the game are: start with a stone, increase the number in turn, and once interrupted, start over. I often lose, and when I catch the five sons facing up, the size of my hands is not enough. It all depends on my mind. Stopping in the first four games repeatedly made me crazy, and after a few rounds, I lost my energy angrily.
Find a plastic bottle, put a few small holes in the bottle cap with a pin, and fill it with water. Then I happily squatted on the pile of stones and started my treasure hunt. The color and grain of the watered stone slowly spread out in the sun, becoming clearer and clearer. At this time, it is like watching a group of budding flowers stretch their petals and flow out of the stamens to speed up the lens; It's like an ink painting waiting to be dipped in ink and open. Every frame is an unknown beauty, which is really gratifying.
during that time, when I was free, I would go to the stone pile and dig around, tossing and picking until dusk. A proud and shy little girl picks out a small pile she likes every day and carries stones across the yard to get them to the door. Then brush them clean one by one, dry them with towels, and carefully place them on the windowsill, filling the whole table.
The grandmother next door looked funny and asked me through the wall, "What kind of stone is this, so precious?" I said, "I stayed if I thought it looked good." Grandma laughed, and I couldn't make sense, so I blushed.
I remember when I left Xianyang and went out of the village, I stood there, like saying goodbye to my old friend, and saw enough of the pile of stones. Later, I moved too many times, and my mother always objected to me carrying them around. Every time I run away, it hurts once. I throw it around and don't change how much money I can wear around.
2
My favorite stone is this one. Although it is stone, the material looks more like wood, with beautiful wooden lines. The most lovely thing is that all around, every side is a sketch. My favorite side: a girl with a bamboo basket on her back and a skirt horn. After watching it for a long time, I can even feel a slight blush on her face. When I show it off, everyone must affirm my abstract imagination, and I always take the trouble to describe it over and over again until the audience nods accordingly. Haha, don't blame autocracy, whether it is close in appearance or not, just like a lover in my heart, who is arguing with you is a treasure. The point is, she really looks like wow, obviously.
This love is not just a stone, but more like accompanying an old friend. Sometimes when I am depressed, I will put it in my palm, and then talk to this stone man, and I will be alive again. I often feel that it is not just jewelry that glitters, but the good luck and joy of sharing brought by belief. I even want to believe that they can breathe, understand and whisper to you.
it's often the case that the more you try to hold on to something, the more you slip away inadvertently. These are excuses, and the crux lies in my carelessness. It was not until I rummaged through the whole bag pocket that I realized I couldn't find it. Wiping away tears, I pounced on all the streets and alleys that the small county passed. When I met the aunt of sanitation, I described it. All I met was a puzzled look after shaking my head.
It was very late when I got home, and my mother greeted me and scolded me for not coming back for dinner earlier. I answered, and when I turned around, I saw the table and cupboard turned upside down. She muttered, "The stone is so small, go and wash your face and eat first, and I'll look for it for you ... I'm afraid it slipped into the bed ..." Dad excitedly came out of the house and saw him holding his hand in front of my eyes: "Look, this piece is round and flat, and there are blue stripes for you!" Mother laughed at him and said it was turned over from a crack in the stone in the afternoon. I just took it, stunned and stunned. For a while, I wanted to blame their infatuation, but I couldn't open my mouth. I was afraid that my voice would choke as soon as I spoke. What I received in my hand was a pebble that was too simple to deserve any features, but it was the best gift my parents gave me at that time. I thought my parents still didn't understand me. At that moment, I knew they had given me all their love.
The lost friend was so familiar that I thought it would always be there, so that I didn't leave any photos and suddenly became empty. I don't remember who I showed it to, or who remembers it. I only remember that someone once saw me as such a treasure and asked for a gift seriously or jokingly. I often appreciate my friends' kindness to it, and I will be embarrassed and happy to bump into it. I didn't want to give it to anyone, silently thinking that it was a gift from God. I even thought about taking it with me all my life. The heavy stone is very safe in my hand. Who will pass it on to in the future? Later, I often worried about who would fall into my hands. I know it's still there. I know, maybe no one will notice it at all, maybe it is still lying quietly in a corner of the road.
because of it, I put other stones in a small box and put them at the bottom of the box for two or three years. I didn't go to see them again in those years when I felt guilty at the thought of stones. It seems to be always saying that the past is like smoke.
3
This year, I reopened this box. Because of the different heart walls, I love them happily and want to treat them well with happy memories of the past. When the night is quiet, staring, thinking about everyone who has come into contact with them; I warmed up a lot of things, including the afterglow of the sunset shining on the sand when I picked it up, and many words we said.
In fact, an object is not only her material foundation, but also a treasure by adding people's joys and sorrows. Because of love and people, these items are willing to become the imprint of the heart. Those temperament and appreciation can't be accurately expressed, and some don't know how to make it clear. Why bother to force yourself? The fate of the baby depends entirely on fate, and it is the friend who has the least importune taste.
I remember the saying in A Dream of Red Mansions: In the end, I only hate gathering without much, and my eyes are closed for a long time. When playing with these things, I often feel that I am a miser. When I am ready, I refuse to close my eyes under the light. Now it's been a long time, and all kinds of lost things will gradually become a habit, regarded as a kind of course, and no longer feel sad. Is it still important or important, but the desire for possession is getting weaker and weaker. The occasional trick of fate will also become a kind of harmless joke in life. I gradually understand that no one can really have anything, and the beautiful things should belong to themselves. Besides love, what can we take away?
I just wrote that I feel attached, that is, if I am hiding or ordinary, I also love it deeply.