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I always feel that people born in the countryside have richer memories of childhood than children in the city.

Zuo Chong, Dai Chunfeng, Gui Youguang, Wu Chunyang, and Song Minghao are like waves and undulating as the background. It makes our experience of the thousands of tastes of life soaked up early in our childhood. Such an experience may have a background for the background of our life.

For example, my memory of my childhood summer is now in the city, and there is a faint light flashing from a firefly, which takes me to pursue and miss it deeply.

The sun is indeed a bit big, and I squint my eyes and look at the sky, brighter than the sunflowers in the ground. However, the wind blows from the mountains and fields, carrying the breath of herbs on the earth, making the boy's heart cool. Then I look up at the sky, and the thick white clouds in the sky are like camels walking slowly.

The boy walked to the well. It was an old well in the village. He picked up the clear water and drank it, which immediately moistened his internal organs. The boy grew up drinking the well water in the village. The well water in the village gave the boy a pair of clear eyes. The undulating ridges and land of the village, tall trees and hard rocks, gathered water continuously underground, rushing to the water, and the water was covered in the blood vessels crisscrossing the land. A well was dug out, and the clear water was like a baby's eyes suddenly opened, and the whole countryside became vivid and bright.

In the village, a man was smoking a dry tobacco under the trees, the passing old man covered his chest and coughed, the old cow returned home was led on the way home, whose mother's long voice drifted in the evening breeze: "San Jiazi, come back for dinner..." This is the scene of my childhood summer dusk, which is engraved in my memory like a print.

Under the yellow tusk tree, before dusk came, villagers set up tables and stools under the trees, and the women were preparing evening meals. The smoke in the village was curling, and in the smell of the smoke, I could accurately judge that Aunt Wang’s family was making pumpkin rice, Zhang Ermazi’s family was stir-frying beans, Hong Laosan’s family was stewing bacon, while my family was making shredded potato noodles...

Zhang Ermazi first brought the fried beans to the table under the yellow gua tree, and he began to greet several men in the village to drink together. At that time, the folk customs were simple, and dozens of families in the village served a dish, and I picked up dishes on a table with one chopstick and one chopstick, laughing and cheering, the children hid and took fun under the tree, and the adults were talking about mulberry and hemp in the fragrance of rice flowers and the croaking of frogs.

What makes me most happy is that the storyteller of the village, Mr. Hou, told us an ancient book every night under the yellow tusk tree. Often when he reached the most exciting point, he stopped abruptly and said, "If you want to know what happened next, let's listen to the next breakdown!" I went home with my shadow under the moonlight, thinking about Mr. Hou's story, which made me return to the scene in the ancient story in my dreams. I remember that at the night of 8 years old, I dreamed that I was fighting with Sun Wukong for somersaults. When I woke up, I turned to the edge of the bed.

The leaves clamored in the evening breeze, and felt that there was running water flowing in the trunks. The cool wind blew into the yard, and the wooden door opened with a whistle. At dusk, my mother often brought a basin of water and poured it on the ground, as if it was poured into a slightly hot iron pot, and the heat was scattered. At night, the night wind was as cool as water. Our family was sleeping on a wide dustpan in the yard. The moonlight was floating, and the cries of insects came one after another. One night, I

Wake up by the night wind, I chased the fireflies to the ridge alone, and the fireflies flew away. Under the moonlight, I saw the watermelon on the sand on the ridge, like mines ambushing among the leaves. The watermelon was already ripe, so I simply smashed a watermelon with a stone and ate it in big mouthfuls. It was so sweet. It was the sweetest watermelon I have eaten so far. At this time, the sound of water was heard from the canal harbor by the ridge. It turned out that it was the brigade pumping water from the reservoir to resist drought.

I tiptoed back, and a cough scared me. I looked closely and walked over in the moonlight. It turned out that it was Zhao Dafa, a brigade water manager, who was patrolling along the way and pumping water. When he saw me, he muttered: "Doll, it's so late at night, why don't you go home to sleep."

I returned to the yard and found that the thin mother in the dustpan was gone. It turned out that the night wind was too cold, and my mother went back to the house to fall asleep with the quilt. Outside the window, I heard my mother's snoring slightly. I looked at the night sky, the lake was blue, and the bright moon shining in the sky. I was thinking, early tomorrow morning, my mother would go uphill again and harvest corn. It doesn't matter if I can't sleep, just let my mother sleep well.

When I thought this way, the dogs in the village barked a few times. The night wind blew, and I shivered, as if the autumn was coming. Sure enough, when I woke up in the morning, there was a layer of dew on my eyebrows.

After summer, it is autumn, just like me who is now middle-aged in the city. The middle-aged man has a pair of worldly and turbid eyes, and is still looking at the immortal films of the summer of childhood, and is clearly developed again in the soaking of the water of time.

The wanderer who has been in a foreign land for a long time has been thinking about his hometown endlessly. The things, grass, trees, and food that revolve around family affection will always inadvertently arouse the wanderer's homesickness.

This year during the Spring Festival, my husband and I returned to his hometown, drank rice wine from my hometown, ate dried tofu bamboo shoots and dumplings from my hometown, worshiped my ancestors, and skewed relatives. On a sunny afternoon, my husband took my daughter and me to the fields with great enthusiasm.

The southern countryside still has spring scenery in winter. We walked along the way, with distant mountains as dark as dark, green water surrounding the house, bright red, pink camellia dotted the house, green bamboo and cypress surrounding the village, and tea trees along the road were green and neat. Walking on the ridge of the field, my daughter carefully identified the various fruits, vegetables, plants and trees in the fields. The husband talked about the childhood memories brought about by this scene, and I was immersed in the fresh air of the countryside, the white clouds at the top of the forest and the beautiful scenery of the mountain villages.

Suddenly, I discovered a grass that seemed familiar but could not be named. The gentleman said: "This is a wild vegetable. In our local dialect, we don't know what it is called Mandarin. Every Qingming Festival, we have the custom of making rice fruits here." This sentence reminded me, was it the yellow wheat fruit mentioned by Zhou Zuoren in his article, and its scientific name is Mouse Grass?

"The leaves are round and round, with white hair on the surface, yellow flowers, and clustered with branches." My daughter took a photo with her mobile phone and checked the Internet. She found that it was indeed the yellow wheat fruit that Zhou Zuoren had been obsessed with. In this way, my daughter and I wanted to taste the Qingming rice fruit. When we got home and told my mother-in-law, she happily agreed to make it for us to eat.

The day before leaving our hometown, my second sister also came to see us off. The five of us came to the nearest piece of land to our home. The sun was warm and we were joking and picking wild vegetables. It was as fun as a game. The cheerful atmosphere diluted the sadness of parting, and soon we picked a basket full of cien.

When we got home, everyone started to wash vegetables and flour, make fillings and cakes, then put the wrapped rice fruit in the mold, print a orchid, and then steam it in the pot. After such a busy life, the rice fruit was placed on the dining table. The green rice fruit with the fragrance of wild vegetables, and took a bite while it was hot: "Well, it's fragrant, soft and delicious!" At that moment, the faces of the relatives were filled with happy smiles. My daughter and I took photos happily and posted them on WeChat Moments, freezing this warm and happy moment in my memory.

The fragrant rice fruit sends homesickness. A certain period of time, a certain scene, or a certain taste will melt into life, reminding you of the direction of your hometown in the passing years. Time and space are constantly separated by the longing of wanderers and the concerns of relatives.

The black and bleak willow branches have a faint green feeling. While I was amazed, I suddenly thought, is it possible that this willow tree with spring sprouts that was green by people's eager eyes?

Thinking of this, all kinds of reverie about Liu came out.

What about the willow color? Maybe it was painted by someone, otherwise how could the green willow be half yellow? Of course, the willow color in Western Sichuan still needs a few sounds to sing outside Du Fu's window to make it full of greenness. The willow leaves are naturally cut out by scissors. When the spring breeze in February was cut out, the green leaves were flying, hanging all over willow branches, and green the whole spring.

The willow not only decorate the spring, but its greater effect is to convey emotions and express emotions. Climb the strips and colors, and send them far away to the dragon courtyard. Haha, the ancients did not spend a penny, and they created romance! Otherwise, just fill in a poem about willow branches, and if you don’t believe it, you will not feel the feelings for your hometown. Otherwise, use a long piece of willow branches to tie your heart firmly.

The willow catkins flying all over the sky are also useful. If you ask how much leisure is, there is a river of tobacco and the wind is everywhere in the city. However, the same willow catkins have become crazy willow catkins with the wind, and the thin peach blossoms are drifting through the water; in Xue Baochai's eyes, it is a good wind that uses its power to send me to the sky.

The leisure gate faces the mountain road, the deep willow reading hall. The hanging strips are lush and quiet, and the five willows are Tao Yuanming, who brings the willows into another realm.

The leisure gate faces the mountain road, the deep willow reading hall. The hanging strips are lush and quiet, and the five willows are Tao Yuanming, who brings the willows into another realm.

The willow branches are soft and swaying in the wind, just like the twisting and dancing shadows, and the willow leaves are slender, like the beauty's distant eyebrows that seem to be frowning. In this way, is the graceful willow the graceful willow the incarnation of weakness? It is hard to say, Pu Songling wrote about a thin willow that is as good as a woman.

I never understood why the old man arranged such a gentle name for such a tomboy. Later, I accidentally searched through it and found out that Xiliu had the saying of Xiliu camp. It was the army stationed in Xiliu, a famous Han Dynasty general Zhou Yafu. Hello, Special Service.
Chapter completed!