This is the last poem left by Mu Xin to the world.

These seven words are written in the most striking place of Mu Xin Art Museum. From top to bottom, it flows down like water drops.

I don't know what Mu Xin's absolute words mean. I just feel as if the ethereal Zen comes with the wind, and the simple three scenes seem to contain many known and unknown things.

It's like seeing a small bridge running water, a peach blossom in the well, and a broken bridge in the spring breeze. ...

It seems that the flowers and plants in the crevices of the ancient bridge in the water town are swaying in the wind and reflecting in the water. The bridge and the reflection are exactly the full moon. Under the sad bridge, the spring waves are green, which used to be a stunning photo. ...

It seems that the wind is blowing, wrinkling green waves and writing incomprehensible poems on the water, which are fleeting. ...

Many irrelevant memories are brought up by these seven words, wind, water and a bridge. Then, on a wooden bridge, in that alley, under the smoke, a vague figure appeared, my grandmother.

Artest has been away from me for about 30 years. My memory of Artest is even longer, as far back as 40 years ago, when I was a little girl.

Grandma, she is my mother's grandmother, but she is not related by blood. Mrs. Tai has a daughter who married my grandfather. Unfortunately, she died, leaving no children. It is said that Taitai's husband also died long ago, and Taitai has been alone ever since. Taitai took my grandfather's son-in-law as half a son, and then married my grandmother. After giving birth to my mother, Taitai helped raise my mother, and planned to let her live with herself and leave her three bungalows to my mother. Later, after my mother married my father, my grandparents refused to let my father and mother go to Artest's house in the next village to get married, so they gave up their inheritance rights. My mother told me all this later. At that time, all we knew was that it was the closest Taifuren, a safe haven for my sister and me.

Most of other people's childhood memories are at grandma's house, shaking and shaking, shaking to grandma's house. However, the carefree memories of my sister and I as children were given by Taitai.

Ty, I didn't know how old I was and what I looked like. I couldn't remember at all. She looks thin and short, has a pair of small feet, walks gracefully, goes out to be a guest together, and often waits for her when she is young.

I remember that Mrs. A lived in a small room with only a small window on the east wall and a small door facing north, and the stove was next to the door. Under the east window is a table for eating and sewing. In the southwest corner is an old-fashioned bed with four railings, three fences, plain mosquito nets and beautiful curtains embroidered with magpies. There is a long wooden pedal in front of the bed. I share a bed with Mrs. Tai.

The sun room facing south has been used for her distant nephew's wedding, and the one she lives in now will be theirs. The condition is that in the future, when he is old, his nephew will assume the obligation to support his wife.

Now that I think about it, it should be a very narrow and dark room. An old house that doesn't see the sun all the year round must be wet and cold. But why is it a happy and sunny house in my memory?

There, I am the freest. I don't have all kinds of housework arranged by my mother, no noise from my brother, no loud yelling, I do what I want to do. I cut beautiful flowers, made feather badminton, and it doesn't matter how I toss it. Mrs. a will clean up with a warm smile.

Because the two villages are in the same primary school, there are a group of my friends here. I went crazy playing with them. There is no gap. Artest won't come to me. She knows I'll be back when I arrive. Unlike at home, I always doubt that my mother will give me a job and can't call me and wait for me to beat and scold.

I don't know what Taitai takes to support herself and me, an increasingly greedy person. As far as I can remember, Mrs. Tai at that time no longer cultivated land, and there was no private land to grow vegetables. However, there are always my favorite dishes at the dinner table, and I can eat enough, hundreds of times more than my own home. I still don't understand. Maybe Atafu gave it to me.

Ron Artest is handy. Help others turn over cotton-padded clothes and quilts and do needlework. People thanked her for letting her eat, and I followed, eating almost all over the village.

What I remember most is being a guest with Artest. Actually, Mrs. A helps her relatives with clothes and bedding.

My home is near Taihu Lake, and I have to pass many ancient bridges without railings. Every time I cross the bridge, Ron Artest is always very careful. He must hold my hand and cross the bridge together. There is a girl who is one year younger than me. There is wind near Taihu Lake. The girl has dark skin and can swim. I especially admire her. Just like moistening the soil and searching for songs, Shui Sheng and Honger have known each other for a long time and are attracted to each other. Two little girls can't finish talking and play enough games.

There is another one near the train track. Mrs. Tai said she would take me to see the train, which was tantamount to a grand festival. She asked my mother to let me put on new clothes for the New Year and go with Taitai. Now that I think about it, the nearest train track is twenty or thirty miles away. I don't know how long I've been with Mrs. Feet, but I have no impression at all.

I only remember lying in the field near the train track. It should be spring, because there is the smell of grass, green grass with little flowers and tender Malantou. It is said that you can hear the train chirping by sticking your ear to the soil. So I put my ear to the field in spring and listened to the stories of weeds, insects and ants talking about the spring sky. Listening seems to come from underground, from distant places, from weak to strong.

I still don't know where those two houses are and what villages they are called. But I clearly remember that it was a beautiful paradise that Artest gave me in my cold childhood.

Wind, water, a bridge. Mrs. a has already turned into wind and water without a trace, and even the image is blurred like a cloud in wrinkled water. Secretly, Mrs. A should be a few years older, maybe about the same age. Maybe the last poem can be understood by Tai.

? Write without warning-17