However, perhaps this is just a beautiful imagination, is my childhood memories. Nowadays, the village will pack the dumplings "skillful woman" has been a few, with a husband with a son pick dumplings back to his mother's home to pay tribute to the lively scene has gone.
In my memory, the mountains are not so dense and lush today, the water is not so green and heavy, the fields are not so grassy and sparse, or even barren into the weeds.
Many years ago at this time, we should be in the depths of the mountain picking the dragon boat bubble (scientific name raspberry). It is not that the periphery of the mountain did not pick, only because the foot of the mountain close to the village of the first batch of bubbles have long been gone, not yet wait for them to halo out of the red color, has been greedy we swept away.
So, really to the Dragon Boat Festival around, we will call friends, holding a donkey glue basin or metal bowl, bare head and arms, into the depths of the mountain no one visits, looking for the clumps of dark red. If you find it, you can't help but shriek, and pick it with one hand without stopping, and catch it with the other. The clumps of dark red almost disappeared, only to put down the heart to lick the basin full of sweet, sweet and juicy is not enough to describe its taste, teeth and cheeks are not enough to carry its aftertaste.
Unconsciously, almost full of pots and empty a lot, can not help but born chagrin: so picking and eating how to win the family's appreciation, partner's envy? Then accelerated the pace of the search, completely forgetting the May heat from the leaves smashed down between the sun, forgetting the bottom of the next branch lying caterpillar, forgetting the caterpillar in the sunshine dancing ash sticking in the neck arm cheeks caused by the itchy pain. Half a day past, the little friends are full of pots, the corner of the mouth stained juice, the corner of the eye with a smile, majestically home to ask for reward.
At that time, the reason why we can drill into the mountains, spring flowers, summer picking foam, fall fruit, winter birds, because the road into the mountains has not been covered by shrubs. People living in the mountains had to go in and out every day to work, go to school, and grind rice; people living at the bottom of the mountains also had to go in and out every day to fetch firewood, graze cattle, and pick fruit. The dirt and stone paths leading out of and into the mountains were smooth and shiny. Every evening when we brought our oxen home, we always met men and women carrying their burdens up the road, panting like oxen and sweating like beads. Our oxen and their burdens always crossed paths idly.
Then the mountain road was still crowded with people, and the horizontal branches of the trees were always cut with machetes, and the weeds and thatch on the side of the road had not yet had time to draw their knots, and had been cut by us with scythes. The first time I saw the car, I saw the car, I saw the car, I saw the car.
That's why you can see the halfway point of the mountain at a glance, and every inch of the area below the halfway point is the activity area of our cows and people, the wood is cut by people, the grass is eaten by cows, the shrubs are scarce, and the weeds are nearly none; above the halfway point of the mountain is still full of foliage and leaves, and there is another world hidden.
In this world below, I learned to appreciate and experience beauty.
I remember a small stream with a thin flow of water coming down from the top, flowing through a naturally formed stone bridge hole. The bridge was a gathering place for girls who were herding cows and haying. There was a girl older than us, her voice was sweet, her face was round, and most of all her long hair attracted me. She would talk and stroke her hair, braiding it into a braid, and then breaking it up and draping it over her shoulder.
The stream is gurgling, birds chirping, stone bridge, the girl in the water combing makeup. At that time, I did not know that is called beauty, only in the lower part of the obsessive look. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on some of the most popular products and services in the world, and then you'll be able to get your hands on some of the most popular products and services in the world.
This is where my original aesthetic came from. Jiang Xun said the original beauty, perhaps this is the original form of beauty.
In this form of beauty, there are nice festivals of spring plowing and autumn harvesting, winter hiding and summer planting, rice planted in the field, not peanuts or weeds, and eggplant and pepper planted in the soil, not cedar saplings or weeds flourish. People have to go to the fields to release water after the rain at the Dragon Boat Festival, and go to the dam to guard the water after the double robberies. With a hoe and a coat of dew, they leave early and return late.
In the form of this beauty, there are good hours of sunrise and moonrise, starry blue sky. At sunset there are only hills like blood, twilight, chickens crowing and dogs barking. No messy chimneys or smoke, no speeding cars or shrill whistles. After sunset there is only solid night color, fireflies hanging in the night, small friends chasing and laughing, and the occasional barking dog. There is no showy sweeping neon light columns, mixed country square dance and dance music. People talk about the past and the present under the moonlight, then call their children and go home.
In this form of beauty, we have children in the agricultural civilization, serve the field and the land, a house of several people, three meals, four seasons, and a lifetime of old age.
And in the dawn of modern civilization, we bare the fields, deserted hearts, coveted the convenience of the city, discarded the law of labor, and even sold cheaply for the root of the land. Our children are not urban and rural not countryside, foreign not foreign soil not soil, four body not hard work not divided into five grains, the whole life, they do not know what is the root!
Some people say that memory is nostalgia. Nostalgia in the sadness of not being able to go back, there are also "wanderers long time not return, there is no stranger and the road" of sadness. Today's nostalgia, doubled a can't go back to the wrist, no relief.