My hometown always comes to my mind with its full beauty and my faint thoughts.
What is the nostalgia? I think that it is a beautiful love for every white skin of my mother’s mother, and the hot blood of each side.
When I was young, there was a green vegetable garden in front of my house. At that time, I would use the fallen dead branches and grind the soil on the soil until I got a small pit. At this time, I am always excited to go to the grandmother who is picking vegetables. I want to say: “Grandma! I want to start cooking!” The child is tender and tender.
Grandma also smiled, and the crow’s feet appeared in the corner of his eyes. “Girl, come here, grandma teaches you.”
I ran to my fart.
It’s hard to pick up the gimmick that looks cumbersome for me, squatting on the thin shoulders, “outside, grandmother…”
Grandma rushed over, “Girl, beware.”
I should, my grandmother grabbed a few beans and put them in the pit. I flipped the soil with little hoes and covered them on the little seeds.
At that time, I was innocent, full of seeds, a few seeds grew into a string of beans, laughing silly.
In fact, I realized that when I grew up, my grandmother only did this “stupid thing” to satisfy me. But this kind of “stupid thing” did not have the opportunity to grow up. It is also because of my grandmother’s love for me that I have a wonderful childhood.
The bees are surrounded by small flowers of yellow or pink, collecting honey and dancing in the bushes. I gently pick up the petals or the pink flowers, and go to the nose: the flowers are faint. Plant it with the bean seeds, “Let’s grow up…” The little girl’s eyes are looking forward to.
Now I think of the time I spent staying with my grandmother, as if I smelled the smell of flowers and flowers.
Now, I have rarely gone back. My grandmother is old and her legs and feet are not so good, so we rarely meet. The only thing I remember is probably the childish thing I did at the time.
Learning pressure, plus insomnia, I feel very numb and turbid, as the degree of myopia deepens, the eyes are not as bright as before.
When I set foot on the kind land again, it can be said that things are things that people are not doing.
I remember that there was always a shallow stream, like a strip of stalks, and the children would always have bare feet and water in the hot summer. Nowadays, the stream of the creek has long dried up, but the ears are still echoing the string of silver bells that the children screamed when they hit the water. Autumn is the season of harvest. Now I am standing between the wheat waves, closing my eyes and occasionally blowing the wind. I remembered that I always loved to stick to my grandmother. She cut the rice and I caught it. Memories are in the golden rice fields, on the grandmother’s old clothes, and gradually clear in the scent of the rice scent and the old car. Blinking, the old car is already overwhelmed, the rice incense is not as strong as before, but the humming sound is as always.
I went to visit my grandmother. The years are not merciless, and the wrinkles are engraved on her face like a knife. It’s just that laugh, so it’s so kind. Although the grandmother was not so convenient to walk, she insisted on managing the vegetable garden with her grandfather.
I ate the soil eggs of my hometown and looked at the bright green of the bowl. My heart was mixed.
People are changing, things are changing, what can I keep?
Hometown, where I am dreaming! I love you!