I once sat alone on that hillside, holding my chin in my hands, thinking about the bits and pieces of my hometown, where I lived in my innocent childhood.
When I was a child, my parents worked in other places all the year round. I grew up under the care of my grandparents. Now I vaguely remember that grandpa's home is very big, and I grew up in that place full of love.
I remember that it was rainy in my hometown in spring, and the rain was like cow hair, like filaments, like needles. Early in the morning, the smoke curled up and covered the village with a layer of gauze, which can be described as a "fairyland on earth". When it rains, I stand in front of the house with an umbrella and stare. Peach blossoms are blooming, and the colors are getting darker and darker, white and pink, and pink and red, just like people's smiling faces after spring ploughing. Simple plum blossoms, plain and facing the sky, quietly bloom on the branches. Although humble or humble, it still chose to bloom, just like those simple neighbors in my hometown. And those tall ginkgo trees quietly polished handfuls of green fans in the spring rain, and the fans left "clothes to touch apricot rain" and the fans came "blowing cold willows". At this time, my great-grandfather always wears a hat and leads simple and honest buffaloes, leaving them beside the ridge, on the hillside and by the pond. "Spring rain is as expensive as oil", and sufficient rain is a good omen! The farmers working in the fields are very busy. And their house, sparse silence in the rain.
I used to remember that when summer came, adults always took stools to enjoy the cool under the old and tall ginkgo trees. My great-grandmother always fanned the wind with a big cattail leaf fan and talked to her neighbors, while I sat on a small bench, resting my head on my great-grandmother's lap, holding snacks, listening to their conversation and watching the light in the shade. The local accent is thin and waxy, the light flashes, and the childhood dreams are sweet and fragrant. I used to remember that my friends and I went to the fields to catch grasshoppers every morning. The flowers and plants at one end are covered with mud, and my hands are covered with dirty sweat. When I was carried home by my grandmother, I was still full of disappointment. I remember that summer vacation, my distant father and uncle came back, and they took me to catch fish in the reservoir. In the clear shallow water, fish and shrimp are free to shuttle. In that night's dream, I also became a fish and shrimp, swaying coolly in the water ... I remember taking a duck home in the afterglow of the sunset, which lit up the duck's dark green feathers and my eyes. I used to remember that the cemetery on the mountain was a paradise for me and my friends to roll and tumble. Children are fearless and have no ghosts. We were sweating profusely, and our grandmother broke out in a cold sweat. I remember that on a starry night, my family was enjoying the cool outside and the breeze was blowing gently, blowing my childhood heart. That moment became the happiest moment of my life. The stars in the sky are flashing, flashing and flashing, as if looking at me and laughing! With the company of stars, the night of childhood is not dark.
I remember that when the wind came with a chill, it also dyed the leaves on ginkgo trees yellow and golden, which was their most brilliant appearance in a year. Then, like a broken cocoon butterfly, it flies slowly and throws itself into the embrace of the earth, elegant and magnificent. Then, a golden blanket was formed. When I was a child, I stepped on it and made a "eyah" sound. The wind is slightly cool, and the air seems to be sown with golden ginkgo. I looked up at the golden "raindrops" and lost in thought: Why is the silver bracelet on grandma's wrist silvery white, but the ginkgo leaves can be golden?
I remember that it seldom snows in winter in my hometown, but I am still wrapped in milk like a slow fat man, and the wind is close to me. Suddenly, my lips turned purple and my face looked like two red clouds. Cold! I ran to the firewood stove where I was cooking, and I felt very warm when I got close to my hand. The flames in the kitchen hall laughed "zi zi", and grandma said that the guests were coming. But I've been looking forward to it all day, and I didn't expect my parents to come like guests.
I miss my hometown endlessly, and I will never forget the memory of my childhood. I don't know, am I attached to my hometown's childhood or my childhood's hometown?
Childhood, hometown, meeting you in the field, watching a blooming wild chrysanthemum, the green leaves set off the yellow petals, picking a petal with its own smell, holding it in your hand, the fragrance floating in the air, faintly telling the thoughts, is it a dream? Is it memory? Or the fragrance in the dust?
(Lecturer, Wang Xuelian)