A
In the red dust wandering most of the life. When I was young, I always wanted to escape from this mountainous and remote place, I can't imagine, after decades of going home to visit my family, parting, after all, with tears, don't want to give up the old mother on the hospital bed, don't want to give up the countryside of the grass and trees, as well as the glossy turquoise like jade green grass, the river slowly flowed from the side of the jumping my love silk, plucking my heart strings.
The grass is green, my heart crystal, the dew on the grass, cool as spring water, through the sweetness of the sweetness, always mischievous fingers gently touch the sunshine crystal. My nails are tender, white and red, I often look at my nails like this, my mother, as soon as she is free, she will use fine scissors, along with my crescent-shaped nails, carefully cut into a curved moon.
The dewdrops on the grass, the surplus is my manna. The fragrance of books and ink, the poetry line curls, the gap of cattle herding, I lie on the river bank of youth, repeated reading Li Bai's ? The light of the moon in front of the bed is suspected to be frost on the ground, looking up at the bright moon, looking down thinking of the hometown? Just such a poem, let me impressed; just such a poem, let me remember a lifetime; just such a poem, let me sigh the pain and lingering love of the countryside.
Cows leisurely eating young grass, big mouth revealing a long reddish-brown tongue, tongue from time to time out, lick the sweet and sweet stream water. The turquoise jade stream quietly flowing, sometimes turbulent, sometimes slow, its voice, wonderful as wind chimes, gentle as a flute, as if both, but also as if not exactly, then why its song makes me so familiar? The river is wide, and from time to time fishermen hold up a small fishing boat, singing the unique high-pitched voice of country men passing downstream. The rocks in the river, standing in twos and threes, from time to time shunt the oncoming stream, turning into a whirlpool.
The fish in the river are of various varieties, and folks often bring their young grandchildren here to fish. In the spring, the rainfall rain, the river grows, the older elders are carrying the back of the back of the wisp, holding a long bamboo fishing rod, rod hanging on a white line, tied on the line with fish hooks, hooks inserted in the earthworms, sitting on the grass. The river is very fertile, so in a short while, there are big carp on the hook.
At that time, I was in junior high school, the third sister is studying in elementary school, cute and naughty, a rush to the river after school, the schoolbag to my side of a throw, it is like a fish on the bank of the thirsty general, towards the river darted away, sunk, suddenly disappeared, scared me towards the river to look at, a short while later, she is like a mermaid like hibiscus out of the water, I feel a little bit more at ease, then yells: "I am a little bit more careful, don't be so careful, don't be so careful. Third sister, be careful, don't play too long.? The third sister did not seem to hear my persuasion, like a small frog, with her flexible and athletic body, weaving in and out of this green and lovely, beautiful and warm river.
Two
The river, rushing on, winds around mountain after mountain. It is our lifeblood, our patron saint, our mother river.
In summer, there were especially many clothes to wrestle. My mother took me, carrying two large baskets of clothes, squatting by the river, over and over again, wrestling. The mother's hand, has been a lot of calluses, flowed a lot of blood. She will be a basket of clothes all down on the white smooth stone has been wrestled countless times, will be a piece of clothing quickly in the river over the water, repeatedly wash a few times, then pick up the heavy wooden stick, according to the clothes from top to bottom of the grain, like chopping meat as fast and accurate. Mother dressed very plain, a gray shirt and a pair of black pants, this outfit, I do not know how many times in this river tumbled, just like the mother in the years of suffering and struggle over how many times; this outfit, I do not know how many times on the riverbanks of the wrestling, like the mother in the cataclysmic period of the life of her children in order to read the book by the impermanent destiny of the tortured how many times; this outfit, I do not know how many times the mother in the middle of the night! Everyone is asleep and she is still sewing under the kerosene lamp how many times, just like the mother told herself that she must hold out until the children to the university until.
For a long time, I carried my little brother to school. This is the mother's last child, at that time, the mother is almost forty, farm work is busy, can only leave my little brother to me.
The morning wind blew up and hit the face, moist air, let me meditate on the dawn of the family smoke curls, more let me look forward to crossing the rickety bridge that stretches across the river. As I hummed along, I soon smelled the aroma coming from the chimney, the distinctive aroma of rice pudding in the countryside. Usually go to the mountains to cut wood, a cut is half a day, over a mountain range, around every kind of forest, holding a scythe in the hand I do not know how many times to sharpen, cut hard and desperately, the whole body is sticky with sweat, as if a number of baths, but those baths are salt baths, the head, the eyes of the eyes, waist and body are all piled up in the body of the salt. Whenever this time, the mouth was like being burned by fire, so dry that it was about to crack. It was hard to find a family to ask for a bowl of rice porridge to drink, immediately, as if from hell to heaven, the throat immediately cooled down a lot. This is my deep affection for rice porridge. Until now, my body is flowing with rice porridge? Blood?
The sky turned over its white clouds, orange sunshine sprinkled the sky, I walked to the small bridge. The dark green is deep, the stream is gurgling, and the birds are chirping and cicadas are singing. I don't know how to swim like my third sister, much less have the courage to jump into the river to play. Every time I walked across this bridge, I was scared. The bridge is a rope handrail, below the rope string a piece of wood, walking, the boards will be? The wooden planks creaked and squeaked. The wooden planks creak. The wooden planks creak and squeak when you walk. There is running water, the more lush grass, the more beautiful bird song, I do not know from when, the fragrance of the flowers, but also from the deep valleys drifting leisurely, those farm ducks, but also in groups from the small bridge under the swim through.
This is where the fragrance of flowers ah? In which valley? Looking at the time is still early, I walked across the bridge with difficulty, toward the depth of the forest. The line to the water, but see the mountains of camellias in the wind smiling and nodding. Flowers of thousands of colors, red, yellow, white, pink, like those mythological fairy sister, dressed in various colors of water-sleeved long dress, singing heavenly songs, from the heavenly world of the water and blue pools flying. Those slightly curled petals, as if they are different dance, some soft, some unrestrained) Now, the hometown is not the original hometown. The wide river, became narrow; that such as jasper luster, has been categorically released a few points; clear jade, stained with black sewage and garbage. On the river, missing the fisherman's trail, missing calves, ducks, and missing when the three sisters in the river east and west string of happy figure, and even more missing the back of the mother in the river wrestling with the clothes and I herded cattle cozy happy. Some are subtle, some are sentimental. The dark sent from the full of autumn waves, make the heart and soul swing.
From then on, every day across the bridge, as long as the smell of the intoxicating flowers, imagining that they were then shy and sometimes unrestrained appearance, the heart of the fear is reduced by a few points.
Three
Now, the swaying wooden bridge has been replaced by a white concrete bridge, people no longer need to cross the river with fear and trepidation; both sides of the river stand up a variety of skyscrapers, and no longer in the past the mud billet houses.
There is loss, there must be gain. People have lived the life of the city, mountain delicacies, birds and animals, is the table? The first time I've seen this, I've seen it all. ; TV, computer, refrigerator, washing machine has long been the villagers commonly used home appliances; highway in all directions, above the various kinds of foreign cars, domestic cars; well-off life has approached the village life.