If you can open your eyes in the warm sunshine every morning and be awakened by the cheering birdsong, it is a happy feeling!
This feeling may never be found again now. I'm the second oldest in the family, I have an older sister, and in a patriarchal family, I'm not worth mentioning. I remember once I was sick, I had a fever every morning, I took medicine and injections in the afternoon to reduce the fever, and the next morning I had a fever, so I repeatedly stayed in the hospital for a month and did not get better. Mom was in a hurry. Grandma said to my mother, What's a piece of? It's been a month, discharge it, can be good, not good... It depends on her creation. Mom disagreed and continued to let me be hospitalized. Gradually I regained my health. When I was well, my mother sent me to my grandmother's house.
Maybe it was my happiest time. Smell the flowers, listen to the birdsong, soak up the sun, and live plainly, naturally, idyllicly and carefreely. It's a great feeling!
There is a large osmanthus tree in my grandmother's yard, the branches are pressed very low and low, and it is cool under the tree in the summer. At the beginning of September, when the osmanthus flower was only a little dewy, I hurried into the green leaves to smell its refreshing fragrance deeply. Grandma looked at me greedily and smiled and said, "When the osmanthus blossoms are full, they will shake off some and put them into the sugar taro, but it is fragrant... I looked at my grandmother's kind smile and nodded.
Just like this, every day I look forward to it, the autumn frost fell, and the osmanthus flowers fell to the ground. Grandma took a sieve and put it under the tree, and I pulled down a pole by jumping and said, "Grandma put the sieve here." "The little golden flowers are scattered and fall on the shallow layer on the sieve, as if putting a layer of golden armor on the sieve." At that time, the sense of happiness and satisfaction in my heart with a big sieve exploded.
Eating the sugar taro, Grandma sprinkled the osmanthus into the light red soup, and the sugar taro was smooth and round, lying quietly at the bottom of the bowl. Osmanthus flowers float in the soup, the sweetness is into the taro, sticky but not greasy taro, I can always eat a big bowl. Grandma looked at me, smiled out of the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes, and the love hidden deep in the bottom of the bowl was extremely steadfast and reassuring.
Even when I return to my own home, I often think of the osmanthus tree, the old house where I live with my grandmother, and the love that my grandmother loved me in such a kind environment.
Another year of osmanthus flowers!