The moment I turned around, the generous sun swung my full enthusiasm in my face, and the orange-like light stretched my back very long, which was a bit faint in the morning light.
Looking up, the sunlight is golden and soft, and the cement floor reflects a dazzling white light, which is dazzling. I closed my eyes subconsciously, trying to hide my embarrassment. There were birds chirping in my ears, and the air was filled with the faint fragrance of locust flowers.
Goodbye, warm home.
The air in April is fresh and humid, filled with an uneasy feeling that makes people ready to move. The rapeseed flowers clustered together to show off that they were attracting bees and butterflies, with a swarm of immature bees swirling around them. There is an indescribable laziness in the village behind. A well-drained farm cow barked cheerfully by the Lunan Reservoir, and its contented voice overflowed from the reservoir. It was a little old, but full of strength. It zigzagged against the walls of the streets and alleys and squeezed into each house affectionately.
With my back to her, my shadow is like a huge open fan. The dazzling golden halo on her head fell into my shadow, and the brightness turned into a blur for a moment. The look on her face instantly became much darker, making it difficult to see clearly.
I didn’t want to turn around and see her exaggerated eyes. I could imagine what was written on her face: loneliness, loneliness, pain!
Hesitating, I stepped out of the door.
Standing at the intersection, I really wanted to look back and take a look at the village wandering in the quiet halo and the eyes full of nostalgia behind it.
The braying of cattle came one after another, seeping into the thin smoke. The aroma of the food in the morning mist was knocked to the ground recklessly, and several yellow dogs wandering around were sniffing excitedly. The nose, searching for happiness all the way, stirred up the noise in the street.
There are not many cattle in the village! Uncle Zhang's house and Aunt Cui's house seem to be... gone. The few cows that I occasionally see stumbling in the fields near the village are probably kept by the old people out of nostalgia or because they are reluctant to slaughter them! They seem to have completed their life's mission and look leisurely and contented. For the old people who have been dealing with farmland and cattle all their lives, it seems that as long as the cattle are there, their hearts can calm down, they can sleep peacefully, and they can be energetic. The skinny cattle may be their hope to support them!
I clenched my fists, wanted to open my legs, and strode away from her. His feet seemed to be welded to the ground. Debussy's "030 Fantasy" piano music suddenly played in my mind, and the melancholy and downbeat tone slowly flowed all over the place.
Uncle Zhang bought the cow after his three children left home to work. In the cold winter, Uncle Zhang carried it and walked more than 30 miles. After entering the door, Niu was still panting, but Uncle Zhang almost turned into a popsicle. Niu became Uncle Zhang’s fourth son. The children all went their separate ways.
Uncle Zhang only knows how to raise cattle, and he lives with the cattle in a shack. When he couldn't sleep at night, he talked to the cow. When he talked about his son, his eyes shone with excitement, and the cow's eyes were much gentler. Niu understood and rubbed his head against Uncle Zhang, who suddenly shed tears.
I thought of my father driving the cattle in the fields with a whip. Following him, I couldn't see his face. All I could see was his back, which was not broad and majestic, and the sweaty shirt clinging to his back. He held the plow with his left hand, and the whip in his right hand was hanging in the air. He kept scolding the slowly moving cattle in a stern voice, but rarely dropped the whip. Walking along the furrow, I saw the shadow of his strong labor; walking along the furrow, I saw his bent back. The length of his back changes with the height of the sun, and our days are measured in his empty and solid back.
Lowering his head, a few ants crawled slowly beside his feet. The human world has nothing to do with them, they live in their own kingdom. There seemed to be a few more, they touched their tentacles as if communicating, and then they began to form. Soon, a mighty team marched resolutely towards the sunrise.
I have dug up ant nests, and all kinds of lanes are crisscrossed, and all kinds of ants are busy. The huge ant king continues to continue the descendants of the ant family, passing on the family rules of dedication, sacrifice and cooperation. .
I don’t know when there were a few drops of water on the dry ground, maybe I didn’t notice it.
In an instant, my poor sensitivities separated in front of those few drops of water-like substance.
Last night the mountain wind blew, the sky was filled with stars, and the heavy night quietly embedded itself in the window lattice. The light beams in the house firmly reject the temptation of the night and soothe the sleepless wind.
I quietly opened my eyes in the middle of the night. She sat under the lamp, her back exaggerated into a silhouette imprinted on the wall. The luggage beside the bed had already been packed, and she stared blankly with her back to me, who was sleeping. I couldn't see her expression clearly, and the huge shadow on the wall instantly trembled my heart.
Such nights were dark and bright at the same time. There had been many such days in her life, maybe she was used to it. I am immersed in a dream. Is she there in the dream? Maybe I did, but I never saw her face clearly in the dream. What is left to me is always a hurried back and a working figure. In the dark night, she heard the sound of seedlings jointing and saw shooting stars streaking across the night sky. She sat next to me, with her back to me, guarding me as I slept.
I don’t know what my back looks like to her, and I don’t know what happened to her in her vegetable patch half a year later. All I know is that the moment she stood up, she suffered a stroke. From then on, she lost the ability to move and wave, and she no longer had the ability to stand at the door and watch my back as I left.
It must be her tears! I think of those few drops of water stains. But she still didn't look back. I didn't want to see her melancholy, just as she didn't want to see my sadness.
I'm leaving, really leaving.
I raised my feet with difficulty. The breeze blew slowly from the feet, making the soles of the feet feel cold.
On the wheat field next to the gable of the uncle's house, several old people huddled in a row silently, with their hands in their sleeves, silently absorbing the heat of the sun. No one is playing chess, no children are running around and making noise, and no one is nagging about the shortcomings of the Zhang family and the Li family. The silent gables and silent people are like a silent village, lifeless.
The sentence in "Farewell Cambridge" suddenly came to mind: "Quietness is the shengxiao of farewell, silence is tonight's Cambridge."
Looking from a distance, the old people Like a row of terracotta warriors and horses that were dried and discarded, the face is written with age, and the deep wrinkles on the forehead are engraved with thousands of years of vicissitudes.
Squinting, they looked towards me. From a distance, I could clearly feel the desolation dripping from their eyes, which hurt my feet.
My feet finally stepped on the solid yellow soil.
I had no choice. The dust slowly rose up around my feet, chasing into an intoxicating light yellow circle, rising lightly, wrapping my legs and surrounding my whole body. The ambiguous smell of the land soaked into my hair, my skin, and every joint in my body. The familiar smell made me suffocate. I gasped for air and really wanted to turn around and see everything familiar under the morning light.
I didn't move.
I can’t remember if I really didn’t move, maybe I did and turned my head.
In fact, I don’t need to look back to know that everything really exists there. It hasn’t changed in many years: the door of our house faces the wheat field, and the children tore off the remaining half of the couplets on the lintel during the New Year’s Eve, feebly expressing the loneliness after the festival. The millstone outside the door is cold and thick, filled with the joyful screams of childhood that cannot be crushed. The residual warmth on the threshold has the mark of when she sat with her arms around me. The black mouths under the mulberry tree can never be filled. , little by little on the ground are the flowers that exploded when the green walnuts fell from the walnut tree.
I'm leaving. I seemed to hear the whistle of the shuttle bus coming from the road behind the house. I didn't have time to distinguish carefully. Her face flew past the villages, fields, trees, and houses in front of me like a picture. She walked in a hurry and stopped in a hurry over the years, and there were countless back figures.
The ants under their feet stopped, and the cracks in the cement floor wandered aimlessly around them like claws, ugly and messy, constantly challenging the ants' weak will.
They gathered around the few drops of water and turned around. One of them seemed to taste it with his mouth. It must be bitter! Then, they readjusted their formation.
The wind blew the rough hometown drama on someone's radio everywhere, and a burst of intensive gongs and drums made people panic.
Some ants are waiting, while others continue to move towards the sun. A few others seemed to have become separated, waving their beards constantly, as if calling their companions for help.
Another one hurried over and danced its tentacles anxiously. The stray ants were amnesty. After a while, they sang all the way to catch up with the eastern sun. I don't know if they were stepping on the music of Paul Seneville's "Adelina by the Water", and they were walking happily, clear and brightly. Looking at their rhythmic legs and feet, the smell of sunshine is spreading all the way behind them.
I think they must be singing happily to the rhythm of this piano music.
I asked her for help many times. She gave me delicious meals, she gave me warm clothes, she gave me warm hugs, and her smell was the smell of the sunshine in front of me.
I thought of her hands.
I seemed to see her weak hands waving behind her. It used to be smooth and agile, weaving beautiful dreams for me and creating a warm home for me. Now it is full of sinews, swaying roughly and weakly.
When I turned around and left her back, I knew that my figure was gone forever. I think I will come back, I know my heart will always be here. She also knew that even if I came back after a long time, she would welcome me with open warm arms.
Just like every time she turns around, she will definitely come back. She turned around not to leave, but for a better future.
The snow-white locust flowers swayed briskly in the morning breeze, as light as her hands back then. The fragrance spread thickly into my nasal cavity layer by layer, stimulating my nerves. The sun shines through the shadows of the trees, and is sifted through the hollow bouquets into mottled light yellow and gray-black shadows, spread out on the ground, like mysterious symbols scrawled in spring. Bunches of Sophora japonica flowers were plucked by those hands in the hook and sickle. The petals scattered when the branches and leaves collided spread the snow-white ground, dazzling and dazzling, becoming the annotation of those mysterious characters. She passed over it lightly, and her footprints were touching for a lifetime.
Her hands ran through my wet hair,
and arranged the clothes I wore every day.
Sliding over the wheat waves in the field,
pinching the tips of the vegetables in the borders.
Cook three meals, no matter spring, autumn, winter or summer,
Climb between the sun, moon and annual rings throughout your life.
Uncle Zhang, who was basking in the sun by the gable wall, stood up slowly, holding his trembling legs. Each section was like a carpenter opening a folding rule, not coherent at all. The moment he stood up, the hat fell off, and he folded it back section by section. He grabbed the hat with trembling hands. He patted the dirt on the hat and muttered: "I can't put it on!"
Uncle Li: "The child was brought back from abroad?"
Uncle Zhang put his hands behind his back, hunched over, and hummed, his son's smiling face instantly appeared on his hat. Sighing, he wandered and melted into the earthy color of the gable, his back getting longer and longer, very lonely.
I know that she is looking at my back, and I can feel that kind of care and reluctance trembling slightly in the air. There was a little sweat on my forehead, and I wanted to reach out and wipe it away, but I was afraid that she would mistake me for crying.
The small water droplets on the ground cannot stop the formation of the ants. I think they must have their own persistence. I don't want my few drops of sweat to interfere with my decision again.
When I was a child, I was most afraid of seeing her back. Every time she turned her back, I felt that she was never coming back, or that she was wiping the grievances from her face. Seeing her smiling face again, the air felt warm.
Finally I took a step, a small step, and I took a step away from her, without any sound behind me. She was still there, silent and crying.
A melodious whistle of pigeons floated among the white clouds, which was clear and sweet. I raised my head and there were a few of the ones I had raised and gave them to my cousin. Did they see my back and blow my farewell flute? The tears in my eyes poured into my nose, and the taste was salty. Years later, the taste still stayed there, very bitter.
The sky is very blue, pure blue, like the human heart, without distractions.
On the wheat field, several children flew kites, rough handmade products made from pruned branches. The hula-la rose and fell in the mist, just like the figure of a child learning to walk, staggering and erratic.
At that time, her smiling face and open hands took away the panic at my feet, like the string of a kite, my wandering was stable in her string. The kite flies over the head, like a swallow, it flies away and will come back!
It climbs slowly and persistently.
Her face and hands were invisible.
"Are you leaving or not? Everyone in the car is waiting for you!" the driver shouted in a rough voice.
My legs, numb and hypocritical, gave in to the driver’s shouts. I wanted to control them, and I tried hard, but the pair of prosthetic-like objects ignored my thoughts.
The sunflowers she and I planted in the vegetable patch are half a foot tall, and their tender leaves look greedily at spring and embrace the sunshine.
My back was squeezed into a line by the car door, flickering in and out of light.
The light, smoke, mountains, vegetation, and fields were framed by the car window, frozen at that moment like an oil painting. The gasoline diluted the sunlight behind.
I didn’t dare to look back. There were only a row of empty eyes left in the mud under the gable.
I don’t know how long it will take to come back, and whether I can still hear the old cry of Uncle Zhang’s cattle when I come back. Will the postman deliver the hat sent by his son to Uncle Zhang? Also, are those ants still insisting, or have they been carried by kites to the sunrise sky?
She still stood there, silent. After looking at the back of a lifetime, those sunflowers will bloom brilliantly.
Am I leaving her with intermittent fragments of light and dark?
The dust raised by the car swallowed up the spring scenery in March, blurring the sculpture-like and timeless thoughts.
My blurry back will be engraved in her eyes for the rest of her life.