Swing away is spring, falling is autumn, and the journey of the four seasons has passed more than half. At the moment of 20 17, we will never ask the meaning of seeds again. All seeds scattered in the soil will be affectionately called by wind, rain and sunshine as long as they are not dug up by naughty wild ducks and pheasants; In the days of 20 17, we no longer deliberately explore how life continues. It seems that all plants, animals and people are not growing smoothly, and some twists and turns are natural. Angry thoughts don't help this and don't need much comfort and understanding. They just keep moving forward. In 20 17 years, I can't smell the rich grass smell anymore. Father asked me to pull weeds in the field and hold them in my hand. The juice dyed my palm green. My father bent down, still harvesting the fruits that belonged to him. Behind me, I was a little wet. I have no right to deprive him of his freedom to work, even though he is over 70 years old, just as I have never given up my love for this land. Only in middle age can we deeply understand what is land and what is root.
My friend said I was old. I retorted in surprise, but I regretted it after I refuted it. I feel like a cow. Forage stored forty years ago is now ruminating. Little by little, don't worry. I will wash my hands, pick some tea leaves, put them in the teapot, boil water, and slowly blend in with the tea leaves. With hot spring water, I can activate the fragrance buried in the depths of tea and release it slowly, while I squint for the fragrant tea. The heat is coming up. Take a sip and let the warmth and fragrance moisten the plain life. I can stare at the yellowed leaf and let the wind take away the cyan in my life, but there is no impatience and anxiety. I wake up spring, dress up summer and decorate early autumn. A leaf is also a vivid interpretation of colorful life, not to mention that we are human beings.
Walking on 20 17, in this early autumn season, I met a middle-aged me. I have time to think about many things that I neglected before, whether it is HTC or small, whether it is simple or complex. Just like a tree, it looks wider and farther after it grows taller while increasing wrinkles. Whether it is sunrise or sunset, it is not a simple beginning and end, but just two knots in a complete cycle. Where the starting point is, it can be counted as the end point. Like day and night. If you grew up in a daze, even during the day, how far can you see? And the silence of the night, how much glitz and noise are isolated, let us see the eternal future more clearly through the thick curtain.
Early autumn intoxicated my middle age. Like a pool of wine, my father is full of the grains he planted and harvested, my mother is adding her endless love notes, and then fermenting with my youth. The high temperature, expansion, pain and heat are all rising. Finally, the light autumn season of opening wine cellar is ushered in today. The sky is high and the clouds are light, and the autumn wind is cool, so the wine is scattered in the vast world. After work, I invited one or two friends, two dishes of side dishes, peanuts grown in my yard, cucumbers on vines, and some bean paste made by my mother. From greeting the body, occasionally chatting a few words, until now, even laughing, facing the sky is relatively quietly replaced by four eyes.
In early autumn, the weather is tepid. Less indulgence, more smiles; Less wind and fire, more prevention; Less fame and fortune, more laughter. Facing the materialistic moment, I put more thoughts into a peaceful and deep book, trying to leave an impression on myself and my children on the journey of life.
In early autumn, I was lucky enough to meet my middle-aged self.