Every time I enter the third month of the lunar calendar, it seems that I have entered a painful season of life, from which I think of my mother and my mother calling the baby's name in my hometown.
Whenever my thoughts are hurt, I can close my eyes and embrace the delicate moonlight, the vast wheat fields and the green villages. Stepping into the soil of my hometown, I saw the rising light blue smoke, and I dreamed of returning to my hometown every dawn and night.
No matter where my son goes, my hometown will always be engraved in my palm. There are silk threads that are constantly being cut, memories that bind my childhood, and my mother's eyes that linger in the haunting scenery forever. My mother is like a floating cloud in the distance, watching every step of my journey. In my bumpy footprints, my mother's sweat and tears, like a tough long river, lifted my son's voyage.
In those famine years, emaciated mothers, with helpless tears, shed bitterness in the cold wind, hid their worries in their hearts, and became the strong backbone of women in China with emaciation and maternal love!
In my sickly childhood, my mother held hunger in her arms and fainted many times, which made me shed many sour tears. In the depths of that cold night, under the dim light, how much poverty was released from mother's sewing! How can my fragile body bear the unbearable bitterness brought by the wild vegetables dug back by my mother? But my mother said, "Men don't cry lightly, and men made of mountains should have their own steps." Mom, because of this sentence, I put my happy childhood in my heart. Therefore, as a result of hard work, I have shaped a blue sky. Today's son still hides his mother's frugal character.
My mother feeds me with the mountains and water in my hometown. Year after year, the young spring has aged my mother's face.
After the son got married, the mother came to live in the city for a month and was not used to it. She can't forget the mountains, the water, the smoke, the weakness of her sick father and the soil that gave her life. Mother turned her once poor home into the most touching scenery.
Mother is old, and I can see her missing from her silver hair. Mother wants to hear the ticking from a distant foreign land most, because it is her son's greeting to her mother.
Mom, you sleep on the pillow with your son's name in your arms every night. There's no way out tonight. Tonight, my son is crying and dreaming in a foreign land.