The past events in autumn leave too many memories, blocking the river of time. Time flies, youth is gone, autumn wind is cold, body and mind are cold, and homesickness and sadness always come with autumn. In the mire of dormant existence, it is difficult to summon up courage, relax, stand high and feel the mature sunshine. Standing on the land after autumn, I am a dying straw, and the care of the sun reminds me of the past. The leaves are silent and the leaves are withered. Today's sunshine is different from the past, and it has been unable to fully render the budding vitality.
Today, I am still empty-handed and as poor as a beggar. In the bright sunshine of Huang Lingling, I suddenly miss a spring river deeply. Picturesque season, blue sky and white clouds, green trees and red flowers, catkin-like spring breeze, long years, how can this scene freeze the back of a charming teenager? At that time, poems were planted everywhere. Now, all expectations are like passing clouds, drifting away quietly with autumn leaves. Touch your temples and feel sad. Looking back on the past, I have a lot of thoughts and moist eyes. How can I blow silent questioning and whole body pain in the wind?
I tried to leave some beautiful marks on all the comments with clean and beautiful words, but the distance between my fingertips and my heart seems to be far away from Qianshan, which is difficult to echo. I had to let all kinds of excuses deceive myself as a matter of course, and watched the glistening time pass in the blink of an eye. Today's sunshine deeply stung my mediocre heart with dazzling tentacles. Even a pool of stagnant water can not help but glow slightly, reflecting the fruitful achievements and great dedication of autumn. Stand in the depths of autumn, peel off all the stale shells, expose the lazy soul to broad daylight, and let Qiuyang carefully dry the gloomy mood.
In autumn, stories about all my poverty will never disappear.
That autumn day, which doomed everything later, is undoubtedly very important to me. It was a sunny afternoon and I came to earth in the form of life. In the dustpan on the clothes rack in front of the door, ripe rice and corn exude fresh fragrance. Sweet potatoes, pumpkins, radishes and other foods and vegetables were piled up at the root of the wall, and my mother completed the difficult delivery alone in the dilapidated old house. My crying was unusually loud, and I rushed out of the mountain village and spread far away at the foot of the quiet mountain, stirring up the warm sunshine and having a clear and beautiful texture. At this time, my father is in another ravine to beam two adobe houses on the new base. The neighbor quickly reported the good news to his father on the wall, who showed unusual indifference. An old man who was herding cattle on the mountain looked up at the sun, then muttered something, counted his fingers and exclaimed, "Hehe, this little girl is still moving in the mud!" " "My father shook his head quickly and firmly without saying a word. After a few days' symbolic rest, my mother began to work endlessly in the fields. Accompanied by me is a long loneliness. I sleep quietly in the cradle every day, without crying or making trouble, and my head is deformed in an eternal posture, so that everyone agrees that I must be a coward in the future. My life began with lethargy, and later confusion must have a close relationship with such a starting point. Hungry and full, stretched grains make it impossible for overworked mothers to secrete milk. Porridge is rare. The thin corn paste for three meals a day makes me sallow and weak, and my mother is always worried that I can't raise much. I was born with the smell of poverty, and my response to language was particularly slow. When I was two years old, I didn't want to talk, and occasionally I fainted when I said vague words. From then on, I hobbled along this barren land like a thin seedling.
Six years later, on a late autumn afternoon, a little girl was born in another mountain village dozens of kilometers away from my home. This girl later became my wife. This autumn, after a once-in-a-century flood, the mountain village was in ruins, everything was in ruins, and his wife was born at an inopportune time. We are struggling along two life trajectories in our respective living spaces, and the coincidence of these two trajectories is twenty-five years later. After the flash flood broke out, the water hit the sand and the crops that were about to be harvested were destroyed.
That thrilling flood made me stand the test of life and death for the first time. It was a cold and humid morning, and it had been raining cats and dogs for three days and nights. Mother seemed to have a premonition that disaster was coming, so she woke up our five brothers and sisters early in the morning. The youngest brother was only one and a half years old, and his mother held him tightly in her arms and never let him go. By the time I got up, the river bank in the upper reaches had been washed away, and the surging flood rushed down from the ridge, and the rice in Huang Chengcheng was gone at once. "Heaven forbid people to live ..." Mother was in tears and sobbed. My father cleaned up the landslide behind the house, dug ditches to draw water, and the corn paste in the pot was steaming and fragrant, and we all fell into extreme panic and forgot about hunger. Suddenly, after an earth-shattering thunder, a muffled sound lasted for a long time, and the land at the foot shook violently. "No, it's jiaozi, run!" Father rushed into the house, grabbed his brother and sister and ran out. Mother took her four-year-old sister by the hand and her brother by the hand, and ran out with her father. The earth shook for a while, and the house was crumbling and in jeopardy. Immediately, black mud flooded into the house, instantly flooding my calf, and my brother's rocking bed and wooden furniture in the house floated up. My mind is blank and I don't know fear. I climbed onto the rocking bed helplessly, closed my eyes and curled up. The muddy water at home is getting deeper and deeper. At the critical moment when the rocking table was about to float out of the gate, my father and my grandfather were paddling hand in hand in waist-deep mud, and the agile grandfather grabbed the rocking table. Almost at the same time, my father grabbed me in his arms, rowed out from the back door hand in hand with my uncle, climbed into the bamboo forest in the western hills and fled to a safe place. At this point, the gable in the east of my house has collapsed, and household items such as rocking tables float out of the house and roll involuntarily in the flood. Without struggle, they are quickly swallowed up without a trace. Later, everyone saw me and said, this is a disaster.
Since then, our family has been displaced and homeless. Fortunately, my uncle took us in and let a family of seven settle down temporarily. In the year of catastrophe, eating has become the biggest problem. Uncle's family also has six people to eat. Aunt is pregnant with her cousin and is about to give birth. Rations are extremely limited. After the flood, there was damage everywhere. The fields were full of mud and gravel, and no food and vegetables were spared. We can only rely on the pitiful sweet potatoes supplied by the government to make a living and maintain our lives. Beggars can be seen everywhere on the road, but my mother said she would rather starve to death than beg. Therefore, we have to rush out, go up the mountain and down the river, and carefully search for everything we can eat. After this autumn, we were lucky enough to taste all the tastes in the mountains and the bitterness of the world. Since then, our tongues have been persevering, calmly, drifting with the tide and accepting it calmly. My father participates in the team's production self-help and water damage recovery every day. He got up early and took the time to repair and strengthen the remaining two dangerous houses. He lived in his uncle's house for more than a month, and we moved back before winter. These two dilapidated houses were not demolished and rebuilt until I went to college.
The following spring, I started school. Eight years later, I graduated from junior high school, and I passed the secondary school by two points. Under the hard persuasion of relatives and neighbors, my father gritted his teeth and sent me to high school. This autumn, I was fifteen years old, carrying a broken quilt, ten kilograms of rice and two cans of pickles, and walked more than twenty miles to the high school in the district. When I first left home, I was lonely, the mountain was high and the road was dangerous, and my mood was very sad. The dormitory of the district middle school is in an old ancestral hall that is even more dilapidated than my dangerous house. It's dark and scary The autumn wind blows hard, the autumn leaves fall, and homesickness is hard to say. Two years, round trip, I have never taken a bus. I graduated from high school this year to take the college entrance examination, and my grades are still hovering next to the score line. The opportunity missed me again. After the summer vacation, I participated in productive labor with adults every day, and I was silent all day. Some people in the team bully others so much that they dig fields and sow seeds during the autumn harvest. I obviously work like them, but I can only get half of their work points. My mother often cries secretly for this. My taciturn father only smokes yellow cigarettes to suppress his deep indignation. In the long run, my father finally couldn't bear it. It's been almost a month since I left school. My father put all his eggs in one basket and decided to let me review for another year. After being dredged, the leaders and teachers of another district middle school were very partial to my grades and accepted me as a late review student without waste. In autumn, my father's decision completely changed the fate of a poor farm boy. I owe the review fee for several months 12 yuan. The head teacher understands my situation, and after each class reminder, he privately comforts me that this is not a personal matter and tells me not to worry. The more considerate the teacher is, the sadder I feel. The pressure of economy, study and psychology has made this year particularly long. With the coming of the second college entrance examination, I became relaxed. I think whether I pass the exam or not, I will be relieved. In this state of mind, combined with last year's reference experience, the three-day exam has been successfully handled. I don't want to do anything after returning home, and I work hard every day in order to minimize the guilt of falling out of the list again.
Summer crops, thermal fumigation. Under the expectation of our family for many years, the height of corn has grown to the extreme. Interlaced corn leaves are intertwined, and from time to time they are in close contact with me with their sharpness and hotness. Working in the cornfield, the bare skin is scarred, and the pain after sweating is unbearable. I am silent alone, and my heart is surging. I put all my thoughts into helping corn. From the practical needs and expectations, the significance of corn is no less than my college entrance examination results. Entering the barren land, the land is barren, there are almost no rice fields, and the harvest is very low. The family's rations can only rely on a few thin pieces of land, and most of them rely on digging in the cracks of stones and digging food in the soil. For many years, rice has been rare. In order to save food, I can't work in rainy season and winter leisure season. I only eat two meals a day, both of which are thin paste of melons, vegetables and corn, and the amount is limited. When I was a child, hunger was my eternal pain, which was deeply hidden in my heart and unforgettable. My biggest wish is to have a full meal. At this time, I feel deeply guilty, and I can't get rid of it. The double torture of body and mind slaughtered a fragile heart, making it bloody and almost numb.
On a hot afternoon, I was weeding corn without a cover. A nephew in the village rushed into the field and gasped and exclaimed, "The notice is coming, the notice is coming." It turned out that the township post office asked him to bring a letter and asked me to get the telephone notice of the pre-selection of the college entrance examination. I insisted on hoeing the land, and I didn't know I had reached the undergraduate score until I got to the post office. The school asked me to rush to the county town the next day to fill out the form for physical examination. The conclusion of physical examination is malnutrition, and others are basically normal. It's a waste of brain when filling out volunteers. I want to go to finance and trade college myself, but I heard from the teacher that the living expenses in normal colleges are relatively high and the burden on my family is relatively light. After careful consideration, I had to give up what I wanted and fill in all the volunteers in normal universities.
In order to raise tuition, I will go to my cousin's tofu shop to help him make tofu when I get back. Get up early and stay up for a month, my feet are rotten and I earn twenty dollars. My dad begged my dad to worship my grandmother, borrowed from the east and borrowed from the west, and collected forty dollars. He only gave me thirty dollars when he left, and kept ten dollars for himself. I looked at the sallow and emaciated faces of my brothers and sisters and felt as if I had done something wrong. Before I left home, I gave my father twenty dollars to buy some food to make up for the shortage during the famine.
It costs more than four yuan from my hometown to the city where I go to college. In order to save the money, my father asked someone to find a ride from a nearby third-line factory to pull coal in the city and set off at night. It has been raining for more than ten days, and this night is extremely cold and humid. It's so dark that I can't see my fingers. I left my poor hometown with a quilt and a wooden box. I can't see my family who saw me off, the land where corn grows, the mountains and rivers that accompany me day and night, and only my faltering footsteps silently write my long-lost homeland.
I don't know how long poverty will last in autumn, and the subsequent hardships are hidden behind hope. The meaning of autumn to me is incalculable. Autumn is the harvest season, and in this season, you will always be rewarded. Too much poverty infiltration, so that I can not get rid of the shabby and wooden rooted in my bones all the time. However, poverty is no less than a kind of wealth to me.