In stormy weather, due to years of disrepair, purlins decayed, tiles fell off, walls cracked, and the roof sagged, just like an old man watching at the head of the village, suffering from vicissitudes of life, that loneliness, persistence and infatuation often made people sad.
I often give it a sentimental heart, carefully open the rusty iron lock, or just take a walk, warmth and intimacy naturally sprout in my heart, and more past events often flood in my heart, piling up in my heart and feeling heavy.
As time goes by, I gradually feel that my hometown is getting farther and farther away from me, which slowly breeds the feelings of my long-lost hometown. For wanderers who have been away for a long time, the homesickness of "the spring breeze is green in Jiang Nanan and the bright moon shines on me" is more obvious.
There are only a handful of times to go back to my hometown in a year, mostly on specific festivals, and they are often treated specially, and they come and go in a hurry, which seems to have a strong regularity.
"Only before the mirror lake, the spring breeze does not change the old waves." Every time I walk into my hometown, I feel that the years are still so peaceful and bleak.
Old houses surrounded by green trees, vigorous old trees, bamboo forests hiding laughter, countless playful ponds, scattered chickens and ducks, occasional cattle and sheep, old wells, old people, old dirt roads and old chimneys. ......
Those familiar and intimate scenes are still silent as before, but after years of baptism, they have been dyed with more simple colors, showing mature, steady, quiet and elegant beauty in the sun.
Hometown is a poem praising mother. I miss my hometown, largely because there will always be a beautiful woman who will devote her life to repay me-she is my mother.
Even though she has become a shadow and a memory now, she is the most touching, gentle and angelic traveler in the world, but you have been naively hoping that one day she will suddenly come back to you.
My mother has never belonged to her since we were born. She gave the rest of her life to all the children who would never let go. No matter whether this land is quiet or prosperous, barren or rich, it has long been a natural life track, endless and hard-working.
Year after year, mother's countless sweat moistens the loess under her feet and waters countless lives, just like her broad mind. Until today, this feeling is still warm and nourishing her whole body.
Whenever the glacier melts, my mother's clothes always ripple in the cool clear waves, and my mother's hymn is sung in the slow stream. Homesick waterfowl will never fly away from the broad mind of the mother river.
Whenever a love that consumes everything, the lovely wild flowers always exude the fragrance of the mother, and the flying butterflies play around the mother like naughty children, doing their best and enjoying it.
In autumn, the simple mother always puts the first bowl of rice in the middle of the yard, honoring heaven and thanking the earth; In the snowy winter, my mother worked hard to reserve wild vegetables for a hard time, and the bitter satisfaction turned into sweetness, making winter no longer long.
The morning light is slightly dew, the birds are singing, and the smoke from the kitchen is sending the breath of the mother. The handmade noodles and steamed stuffed buns with vegetable boxes made by her own hands are memorable until today.
On the moon, the willow shoots, crickets touching the piano, witnessing the mother sewing selfless love and warmth into the child again and again under the dim oil lamp, how can an inch of grass's heart repay Sanchunhui's love?
People often say that "there is still room for life when parents are here." With parents gone, there is only one way home in life. "
If the father is the backbone of a family, then maternal love is many purlins scattered under the backbone. In fact, it is to support my father and give him courage and strength; In the sun, take care of the children and give them shelter from the wind and rain. I am grateful to my loving mother for a scoop of water, and I am greedy for her call back.
Hometown is a poem. Because of my mother, this poem looks unpretentious, gentle and moving, rich and delicate, romantic and affectionate.
Hometown is a poem tied to a wanderer's heart. "When you were away, the wine was still there, and you have become a stranger." That year, just for the poetry in my heart and the distance, groups of indigenous people packed their bags and went to schools, factories, military camps and coal mines without hesitation. Stay in the desert, cross the frontier, cross mountains and rivers, cross oceans, experience all kinds of customs in the world, and taste all kinds of ups and downs. More joy and joy, more pain and injury, forged perseverance and strength.
Perhaps it is because of the need to continue to struggle, perhaps there is too much helplessness in life, and people who can't help themselves rarely go to their hometown again. Let alone leave home, let alone be happy. Wives, children, parents, close relatives, old friends, old houses and graves are always filling their hearts and stirring their thoughts.
"Being alone in a foreign land is a stranger, and I miss my relatives every holiday." Are you as afraid of the holiday as you are when you are busy? Clearly know that "the bright moon was there, and once returned like a colorful cloud", but who hasn't experienced the loneliness of "looking up and finding it was moonlight, and then sinking back, I suddenly remembered home"! Who hasn't said, "He knows the dew will be frost tonight, and the moonlight at home will be how bright!" !
Because of running around, because of hard work, because of convenient transportation and high-speed operation, the frequency of our rural exploration has not increased. Have you ever felt the same way that "people say that the sunset is the end of the world, and you can't see your home when you look at the end of the world"? Have you ever worried that "when the sun goes down, heartbroken people are at the end of the world"?
The tree is high in thousands of feet, the leaves fall to the roots, the birds are tired of knowing, and the wanderers miss their loved ones. In the face of long-lost relatives, have you ever worried about "how late will it be?" In the face of old Yan, a childhood friend, are you so depressed that you want to ask a flower and a glass of wine, how can an old friend be different?
Maybe one day, you will return to the land where you once rested, no matter whether you return home dressed in rags or down and out. I believe that your hometown will open its broad mind, accept you at any time, tolerate you, comfort you and warm you.
"a cloud can't be scattered, shake your homesickness." Looking back on the years that passed by in a hurry, I suddenly found that the poems that really touched the soul were not far away, and my hometown was destined to be the poems in every wanderer's heart. This poem is deep and dignified, touching, touching, sad and far-sighted.
One-year-old people, after several spring and autumn, after years of accumulation and polishing of time, a heart has already become peaceful and indifferent, and a sense of intimacy and attachment to hometown seems to have returned to homesickness when I was a child.
From the shallow fields and egrets, I feel the harmony of my hometown; From the laughter of peaches, apricots and wheat, we can appreciate the rustic nature of the countryside. Listen to the frog drum in the moonlight of the lotus pond and catch up with the glow of fireflies in the cool wind. Listen to the song of a small river, which is a familiar tune in my hometown; Smell a nameless flower, which is the fragrance from my hometown.
I look for familiar smells in the morning light, I read yellowed memories in the twilight, and my hometown quietly puts on a simple coat in the dim morning light and dancing moonlight. In this way, I gradually feel that my hometown is getting older like me, and the years are fading like me.
But those old things have been quietly scattered in the long river of life, causing ripples from time to time, flashing, becoming more and more round and brighter. People who care and don't care will be washed away with the running water sooner or later, and gradually drift away.
At midnight, I often indulge in lingering and sad music alone, and the shadow of my hometown often comes into view.
"Who can't stand homesickness in this nocturne?" Bursts of nostalgia and homesickness, a string of homesickness, condensed into homesickness, flooded my heart, became a miss, a tear and a wound.
"It's embarrassing to meet you with lovesickness." Where are the living, the dead, the familiar and the strange now? Close at hand, close at hand. Perhaps, this life is really "easier to see when you are away, the water is gone, and heaven and earth are together."
Looking up from the window, you can often see the bright moon and stars in the sky. I want to entrust my carefree thoughts to the clouds, hoping that they will bring my thoughts and greetings, and be quiet and calm. The occasional nightingale is always carefree and incomprehensible. The occasional chirp interrupts my meditation, and everything seems like a dream.
The streamer easily dumped people, turning cherries into red and plantains into green. Walking through middle age, I feel that time flies and time waits for no one. Although I am close to my hometown, I always feel that I have too much sense of alienation from my hometown. It is not surprising that I often feel that "my hometown is full of thoughts tonight, and it is another year of Ming Dynasty".
Many days, I think of going back to my hometown alone, not competing with the world, not asking the world of mortals. I just want to feel quiet, win tenderness and find the lost Meng Tong.
In my dream, I will wave my whip again, carefully manage the cattle and sheep on the dam, or lie on the soft grass, watch the clouds roll and relax, come and go freely, look at the picture books that have been turned over countless times, and feel the seemingly incomprehensible stories.
At dusk, the sky was covered with clouds, and the melodious flute on the back of cattle echoed on both sides of Zhang Xiaohe, crossed the gap in the forest and returned to the village. The afterglow of the sunset has long been used to reflecting the elongated figure in the clear river, so clear and carefree.
Intermittent laughter, deep or shallow footprints, I once again indulge in the years, which is an old dream I have relived countless times, ups and downs.
Time is ordinary, heartless, magical and affectionate. It urges the elderly to live with deep feelings, so that there is always a sad and unreasonable parting in your heart.
"Looking at the clouds and covering your eyes, homesick for raindrops". I know that no matter the ends of the earth are close at hand, no matter rain or shine, no matter what ups and downs my life will have in the future, my hometown is always my strong support.
Because, in my heart, it is a mountain, a piece of water, a grass and a tree. Its years and future have already gathered into a long poem with rich content, which is deeply attached to my feelings. Every time I say something, there are always feelings and tears. ......