There is such a city--
The gently flowing water of the river reflects the cloudless blue sky and makes the moss crawling on the white walls and black tiles look green; beside the old three-eyed well, women in simple Naxi costumes talk about their parents' lives and wash their clothes and vegetables; and kind old men in sheepskin coats sit idly on the threshold smoking dry tobacco
This city is the Dayan Old Town, which carries my grandfather's memories and survives in my heart.
This is the city that carries my grandfather's memories and is also the old town of Dayan that lives in my heart!
The curved stone road stretches from the Ming and Qing Dynasties. The years have passed from the green stone plate, the stone plate is smooth as a mirror. Along the stone through the street, families living near the water, wooden houses, staggered, ancient trees in the sky, willow low arch, painted the "small bridge and flowing water home" Naxi family life charm.
Early in the morning, the horse gangs *** from the street through the end of the street, woke up the old city in the sleep. Curling smoke in the sunrise under the reflection of the leisurely floating string in the old city over the man in the fire on the side of a pot of ghee tea, the woman branded on a few sheets of Lijiang poop, a day of life will be opened.
"Drinking Dark Hanyu" (Naxi: buy cold noodles -) "rice line Zilu" (Naxi: eat rice noodles -), the familiar yelling --The familiar sound of yelling echoes in the alleys of the old town. The hut on the street, the hard-working ama set up a few square tables in the house, it is a business at home. Said to do business, in fact, is also for people traveling to provide a resting place, to provide a little bit of food for the people who labor. A hut, a window, a world. "Zhiqiu Gu" (Four Square Street) also opened a busy day. Naxi ama diagonally carrying a bamboo basket from the field to rush, green and white vegetables, eggs, can be exchanged for agricultural products flat filled with them. Pedestrians coming and going, you a word, I a word, and companions say their own things. The horse pothead led the horse shuttle in the crowd, they brought along the way to the exchange of new objects to the people ......
The last touch of the setting sun with people's happiness and sadness gradually fade away, the horse pothead packing bags, leading the horse, towards the next place. The sound of the Dongba old man chanting accompanied by the sound of the water mill running the old street daytime bustle to the magical Jade Dragon Snow Mountain, the city again into a sweet dream.
......
I love to rest on my grandpa's knees and listen to him tell stories about the people of the old city, and I love to listen to the crisp sound of the bells of the horse gangs in the stories, and that sound takes me to a faraway place. "Legend has it that there's a piece of pure land, where there are ancient peoples, and everyone can sing and dance, and they're never alone. They are never alone ......"
Tags: small town stories