My heart swelled when I read this sentence.
I have been reading Yu Xiuhua's prose these two days, and suddenly I understand why I have a soft spot for her.
Someone once questioned that I liked Yu Xiuhua because of unknown so's behavior, and the tone clearly showed contempt for Yu Xiuhua.
I remember I paused and explained that I liked her talent for manipulating words. In fact, at that time, my heart was a paste, and I never thought about what attracted me to Yu Xiuhua.
This afternoon, the mood is idle, the emerald green outside the window, the wind is coming in and out, and the waves blow the rich green smell of grapes everywhere, scattering all over the floor.
Grape grains such as beans and rice are crowded together and poked around, as if to show off their glittering and translucent future in a hurry.
A cup of tea, a table, a chair, a window view, quietly reading a favorite book, feel at ease.
This is my favorite life, living in a world within reach and living in a domineering green.
The grape leaves are stacked on top of each other, blocking the noise of the world outside the window. The prosperity and excitement outside the window are theirs. I just like the peace in this corner.
I only like this "castle" surrounded by green. There are my sea, pearls, corals and marlins in the castle.
I am addicted to it, and I can even stay indoors for a few days, regardless of the mountains and water outside the window.
This is what I want to be "lonely for a hundred years", undisturbed and secretly happy.
The sunset glow applied to the vegetation is broken on the desk of walnut through the gap between trees, like the moonlight in the morning, faint, cold and slightly cool with touch.
Little bees are flying around, little sparrows are chirping, little black dogs are barking and jumping, and Jinjiang water under their feet is lingering all the way.
Tired, I lie prone on the window, looking from a distance, the world is just a gap between trees, so far, so close, so big and so small.
When you are tired, you will sink into the depths of the soft chair, look up and squint slightly, so that the occasional falling sunshine can touch your face and make it slightly warm.
I can think of anything, think of nothing and do whatever I want. This is the life I want.
I persistently moved nature to the window. Every night, flowers, birds, stars and moonlight crawled around in my sleep.
This is the spring I watch every day.
Only people with hometown can have spring, and I stubbornly transplanted a piece of spring and stubbornly wanted a hometown.
Hometown is planted in the heart, long and far away.
Yu Xiuhua said that she has no hometown. Because of her disability, she has never left a village called Hengdian in her life. Only those who go far away can have a hometown.
This is the melancholy of her life.
No hometown, no homesickness, and lack of publicity in spring.
What she doesn't know is that people with hometown have homesickness buried in their hearts, and homesickness is an eternal daydream.
In many dreams, words, songs and poems, homesickness has become an ocean of memories.
People with hometown are duckweeds.
Therefore, Yu Xiuhua, who has never left Hengdian in her life, is happy. She doesn't have the pain and sadness of duckweed.
Her heart is rooted in the soil under her feet and has the power of the earth.
Powerful words can touch people's hearts.
Her poems come from the earth, so they have the majesty of the earth; Her literary talent comes from mountains and streams, so she has the freshness of spring water; Her spirit comes from vilen, so she has unrestrained vastness; She was born and raised in the soil, so she has the truth and transparency of nature.
I like her, perhaps because she lived like this in my hometown.
Her words tell me what I want to say, and her thoughts tell me my complexity, persistence, humility, helplessness and desire.
My hometown also has a string of low-rise houses, winding dirt roads, evergreen bamboos, rolling mountains and ridges with wild weeds.
But I am separated from them by years, by wind and rain, by endless walls, dreaming, enough, listening and grasping.
What you hold in your hand is a memory.
People in my hometown, feelings in my hometown, childhood in my hometown and mountain breeze in my hometown have all been run over in my heart and crushed into a melancholy Wang Yang.
More than one person laughed at me. I only stayed in the countryside for a few years. I don't know the season of grain and grass, and I don't know the autumn and yellow of crops. People like me who can't carry their shoulders or their backs are useless in the countryside.
When they laughed like this, did it ever occur to them that the small village called Liping Mountain was carved in the heart of a "cripple" and worshipped like an epitaph?
People with hometown, spring is like a song. People who write songs, people who sing love, and people who listen to songs will cry.
That's a heartfelt compliment.
Homesickness, you were in your backpack when you left home as a child, and I was on my way home in China.
That is a long-term prospect, a long-term wait.