cherry
Don Wei Zhuang
Remember the first snow full of branches,
and bees and butterflies with flower shifts.
And now the flowers are gone,
Empty master mournful poems.
Photo/Hibiscus in the rain
At some point in front of the door, the neighbor planted a cherry tree, how tall a person was, I thought it was a cherry tree.
Cherry tree, Rosaceae, Plum genus. Cherry blossom tree, Rosaceae, cherry genus. Just close relatives, are two different deciduous trees.
In the spring, this cherry blossom tree bloomed very early, and I only squinted my eyes, clustered like snow, and hissed. The beauty of cherry blossoms, all the words about beauty have been used by literati to describe. People who love cherry blossoms are all over the world, so lively, and her beauty I can not participate.
The more I seem to like things that are ignored by others, the more the cold things need some warmth. When I was studying, the students who were collectively excluded in the class always got my love.
"How much do you know about the sound of wind and rain at night?" In the early morning, the rain stops and the wind stops, and the poignant beauty of the flowers falling after a rain will be opposed to the blooming time. I carried the camera out to photograph the falling flowers, and I thought that the cherry blossoms were more low-key and connotative when they fell than when they were open. Some people, like cherry blossoms, also have the extreme prosperity of life, impetuous and vain, and self-respect (of course, flowers will not be like this, they are all caused by people). For example, Yu Xiuhua, before writing a book, cut grass, feed rabbits, sprinkle grain to feed chickens, and quietly write his own poems. When you become a poet one night, you can no longer be a simple village woman. Busy attending many literary gatherings all day, the poems are not only written less and less, but also less and less vital than before. Her public account replied to readers' messages, rude, abusive, like quarrels. Readers have the right to make any comments on the work, which the author can or cannot accept, and must be humble and respectful of the reader. How can there be such an attitude: I can write poetry, can you write? I wrote to her with sincerity, first expressing my liking, understanding and sympathy for her, and gently reminding her that I should not treat my readers that way. She was a poet, I was just a very ordinary village woman, she didn't look at me at all, she ignored me. I thought that a person, no matter how well written poems and articles, has no gratitude and no warmth, what is the use. A person, fame and status, with cherry blossoms blooming, short, flashy, the quality cultivation in the bones is the lasting beauty, bearing the fruit of life.
I thought of Yu Xiuhua for no reason, just passed the cherry blossom tree in front of the door, raised my eyes, oh my God, the green cherries with branches, the rain had just bathed, emerald green and crystalline, like a baby's clean eyes, hidden in the green leaves, secretly looking at me, playful and cute, just like the deceased.
Cherry trees, how familiar, kind. Hometowns, villages, dirt, crops, people, things, like movies, all come to mind.
In the village of my hometown, cherry blossom trees are rare and cherry trees are very common. In any courtyard or in front of the door, there are one or two cherry trees in the vegetable garden, and someone accidentally planted a cherry tree thinking that the cherry tree, only to blossom and not bear fruit, then extremely frustrated to pull out firewood, scolding: "Gong! ”
I remember when I was young, there was a relative who sold bean sprouts on a bicycle, my grandmother's nephew, my name was uncle. He wore a torn cotton jacket, no buttons, a towel tied around his waist, a white towel dirty into yellow, a cotton jacket collar like a razor-headed knife cloth, and a greasy brain.
Father and grandmother were busy, making a few small dishes to entertain him. He enjoyed drinking with his father and talked endlessly about farming. He sat at the table, I hated him dirty, did not want to eat at the table, no matter how delicious the dish he clipped, I will not stick. When he saw me, he was very kissed, like a father to a daughter, trying to hug me, and I smelled the brain oil on him and hid from him. He took the snakeskin pocket on the car, put it on the ground at random, and pulled out peach crisps, peanuts, sugar and other snacks. He took a piece of golden crisp peach crisp, took a bite, lips and teeth, screamed incense, and stuffed it into me. I hated him for being dirty, and cried out not to eat.
However, he took out a ball of cotton wool from the torn cotton jacket and carefully opened it, revealing a small red fruit, round and jade, and the color was attractive. He squeezed a grain and shoved it into my mouth, shouting confidently, I'm sure I'll eat the cherry.
Cherry, red and dripping, dragging the slender stem, beautiful body, the entrance gently bites, the delicate flesh cracks in the lips and teeth, the sweet and sour juice splashes around, and finally there is a hard and slippery core, have to slow down and carefully clean the precious flesh, and then spit out the delicate core for a long time.
That day, I couldn't eat the food, and the enchanting cherry hooked my soul. Eating a mouth full of brilliant red, cherry cores are reluctant to throw away, it is said that buried in the soil can grow cherry trees. My uncle took a sip of wine, looked at me with relish, and spoke to my father, and moved two cherry saplings next spring, planted under the house, the wind was good, the sun was full, and the fruit was willing.
Sure enough, in the spring of the following year, my uncle came to sell bean sprouts again, bringing two cherry saplings, which my father planted under the house, next to the same toon tree.
Children do not pay attention to phenology and do not care about the growth of fruit trees. Suddenly, Grandpa told me to go to the cherry tree to write my homework and watched the cherries not let the birds eat them.
It was a miracle, only a gust of wind blew through, two trees, fluttering clouds, cherries, red cheeks, shyly. Pick one into the lips, slightly sweet, too sour, not ripe yet. There was another gust of wind, the orange turned orange-red, and the juice became darker and sweeter. Wait a little longer, the wind blows again, the orange red slowly turns into a deep purple, the water is moist, just ripe. The cherries brought by the previous aunt are round and full, the color is calm, the translucent purple red, the taste is more fresh and sweet, the flesh is transparent, and the saliva juice is trickling, like the ripples of spring water, stirring the taste buds. Some of them are overcooked, cracking the mouth of the red and bright, especially sweet.
Cherries are delicious, difficult to pick, ripe, have to be picked quickly, pick late, automatically scattered, or eaten by birds. Tens of millions of red beads, embellished with green branches, gorgeous and colorful, beads with thin skin and tender flesh, must be gently picked, can not be anxious.
The hometown proverb says: "April 8, cherry cucumber." "These are the two most popular fresh fruits and vegetables in the local spring. In those years, spring did not eat cherries, not called spring.
When he was young, he lacked the eyes and heart to find beauty, and neglected the opening of cherry blossoms. Once, my uncle came to sell bean sprouts again. He went with his father to see the cherry tree, and I followed. Ah, in front of me, two cherry trees are dressed in white and feminine, and the bees are flying and dancing, and the soul is like rouge. Uncle pointed out which branches should be pruned next year before they could bear fruit. He dragged the branches of the flowers and talked with his father about the thinning of the flowers, and the more flowers there were, it was best to knock some down, and the fruit was large and sweet. I was under the cherry tree, picking up the petals that occasionally fell, soft, pink, and tender, putting a few petals in my mouth and chewing and playing, with a slight light aroma. Uncle, picked a few flowers for me, and said that he would take me to his house later to see the cherry trees blooming in the mountains.
My uncle didn't fulfill his promise, and he never came to our village to sell bean sprouts. Listening to my father, my uncle went to Shandong to teach people the technology of raw bean sprouts, for unknown reasons, and his eyes were blinded to foreign countries.
Those two cherry trees, spring came, did not know the reason, did not sprout, and quietly died.
A woman came up from under the osmanthus tree and asked me what I was looking at, which woke me up from my memories. I pointed to the green cherry with the branches, and called it a cherry in surprise, and the cherry was finished. The woman was dazed, the cherry blossoms had just bloomed, and it could not be cherries. I wanted to tell her that the cherry tree was not the same kind of tree as the cherry tree, and she left indifferently and disappeared into the cherry blossom forest in the distance.