The moment I stepped out of the car, a gust of wind blew, mixed with yellow sand, greeted the people who came forward and told them that you had come to the Loess Plateau. Familiar smell, yes, this is the place where I once lived and the hometown where I once lived.
Stepping on the soft soil and listening to the birds singing, along the river, I embarked on a journey to the old house that disappeared in my memory. At this time, I always think of the words "old vines faint crows, small bridges flowing water", and there is always a trace of desolation and sadness in my heart, and memories blow like the wind!
Walking in the silent field, I kissed the gurgling river, which was not as refreshing and thorough as Jiangnan. She is not a lovely Jiangnan woman in people's eyes, but a man who has experienced many vicissitudes! Where it flows, there is no smooth rain flower stones in the south of the Yangtze River, only sharp sand stones mixed with sand, but it still grinds them down one by one. This river mixed with sand and stones makes you unable to see its bottom. Grab the stones on the roadside and throw them at him. You can only hear a dull crash. Like an old man in his twilight years, you can't figure him out. It is the precipitation of time and culture.
The river flows leisurely in the forest, but it can't be called a forest. Just a few lonely old trees. Tall and thin, it hurts. The once-in-a-thousand-year cool breeze passed through them, and the breeze from the far northwest hovered over them with a unique body temperature. They just stood there quietly, never wavering, and always welcomed the wanderers returning from afar with open arms and gave them a big hug. "You're back at last!" . They don't have gorgeous coats, so they are not masterpieces of Western Impressionism, but Qiu Shu, who is quiet and distant and full of Zen in the works of landscape painters in Ming and Qing Dynasties. It was already late autumn when I left, and the leaves on the tree were still swaying in the wind. There are a few white clouds floating leisurely in the distant sky, pacing up and down at the speed of snails, and welcoming me with various postures. I just smiled and looked at the bleak blue sky intently. I don't know how it keeps its blue under the raging yellow sand and ensures the white clouds! Looking at the dark blue sky without any impurities that can only be seen in this plateau, I suddenly have an impulse. Want to get close to it, I really want to jump into the sky like Tianchi and wash it, from body to soul. By the way, how did it keep that purity?
Every time the sun sets behind inch by inch, the setting sun will dye the sky golden yellow. Sometimes when children are naughty, they secretly hold ABBA's lighter to point clouds. At this time, I like to sit quietly alone, sitting on a high place listening to the wind. The handle is melancholy like autumn rain, and I touch the wound of the wind alone. I like quiet silence. Whenever early summer comes, I always sit at the western end of the moon. Crickets and crickets crow one after another, weaving into an ancient fairy tale. My heart is always filled with the days when I was a child and lived with my grandmother; The old song "Listen to Mom's Story" has been playing all the time.
Hometown is a person's spiritual sustenance. The farther you go, the tighter the string becomes. Because the higher a tree grows, the deeper its roots are.
Facing the empty valley and feeling the majestic momentum of the mountains, I want to shout loudly! But I won't shout "hometown, I love you". I can only shout "Mom, I'm home"!