Prose: Father's Tree/Li Xingjia
Whenever I go back to the old yard in the country, I see the trees in the yard and think of my father again. Like these trees that he had planted with his own hands, he looked at me silently, silently watching me. It had been thirteen years since my father had left, but I felt as if he was still with me, never far away. In my dreams, when I was alone, I couldn't help but tear up my eyes to express my endless thoughts and deep remembrance of my father.
This year's winter clothes festival back to the countryside hometown to pay tribute to the father, after the memorial in the big brother's home to eat, back to the long-lost old courtyard, the scene in front of me makes me can't help but sigh, the gate of the courtyard is gone, part of the courtyard wall has collapsed, the courtyard is overgrown with weeds, Lala straw crawled all over the courtyard wall. The roof of the west house has collapsed, the individual tiles on the roof of the hall house have been damaged, only a few stray cats live here at ease, and when they see my arrival, there is no panic, as if they are the owners of this yard, and I, the real owner, seems to be a guest, and it is no wonder that who let me leave this yard for more than twenty years? Now I have become a hurried passer-by of this old yard.
Everything is human, and we can never go back to the past, and we can never see what we were when we were children. At that time, there was a plane tree in front of the gate, which was planted by my father. In my memory, my father was very industrious, he never had a time to idle, every day my father was "up at dawn, sprinkling the courtyard", always picking up this half-acre square courtyard clean and full of life. My father liked to plant trees, and in all corners of the yard and open space, he planted some elm trees, plane trees, locust trees, neem trees, toon trees and so on. Every spring, the plane tree pulls out new shoots, the buds are so green so fragrant, so fresh, so cute, it silently conveys the breath of spring to us, under the sweet spring rain, the buds gradually grow into tender green leaves, the leaves are green like emeralds, a spring wind blows, the small leaves of the tree move, as if to put a beautiful emerald crown on the plane tree. When the flower blooms, you can smell the fragrance emitted by it from a long distance, which is refreshing and intoxicating. When I rode more than seventy miles, hurried home from the county town, I was physically and mentally exhausted when I arrived home, and when I smelled the familiar sycamore fragrance with the smell of hometown, the exhaustion of my body disappeared. In summer, the dense foliage of the plane tree is like a giant umbrella, covering the fiery sun and bringing a coolness. We frolicked under the trees, played, pinched mud men, and didn't feel the summer heat at all. In autumn, the plane tree bears many sycamore fruits, and there are small thorns on the round fruits, like a laurel circle. The green leaves have also turned golden yellow, and the small brown fruits are set off, which is very beautiful. After several autumn rains, the rain washed the leaves of the plane tree transparently, and the leaves fell down one after another, like "little paratroopers". In winter, all the leaves of the plane tree are gone, leaving only the bare trunk, naked. But it is still strong, and its face is covered with indomitable wrinkles, as if it is an old man who has been weathered by the wind and frost, standing in the wind and snow without fear of the cold.
In the late spring, the countryside is full of red and blue, and the style is swaying everywhere. The neem tree in the southwest corner of the yard, with its tall trunk, first spit tender green, like the buttons coiled on the old-fashioned woman's placket, shy and timid, locked in spring dreams. After a few gentle spring rains, neem blossoms bloomed, and clusters of broken flowers were dyed layer by layer on the branches, small, but tightly packed, densely packed, and bloomed warmly and luxuriantly. The flowers are lilac in color, embellished with slender yellow buds in the middle, densely packed together, and from a distance they look like lilac smoke, like a layer of light. From the root to the fork, there are some spots on the bark like spots, like spots on zebras. When you peel off its skin and taste it, you know that its skin is bitter. Maybe the "neem tree" got its name! Although the bark of the neem tree is bitter, it is of much use. Neem trees are a good material for making furniture. The mother said, when the neem tree grows up, make a big wardrobe for your sister as a dowry, I don't do it, I have to make a bed for me, I have been sleeping on the mud kang for more than ten years. For this reason, my sister and I fought for a long time. The father said, "Good children do not want to divide the family property, and good women do not want dowry clothes", which calmed down this controversy. When the sister got married, she bought ready-made furniture, and the neem tree escaped the disaster. I was admitted to college after graduating from high school, and naturally I did not use neem trees. The neem tree escaped another disaster. The neem tree, which has escaped several disasters, is spiritual, and it is silent, like the old cattle in the backyard of the village, regurgitating the poor and affectionate years of the past, quietly lingering with the shy wind in the pink light. The bitter bark, the crested trunk, and the delicate fruit of the tree make people's eyes wet little by little.
In winter, neem, like the village, looks very thin, shaking off the old and withered leaves and hanging deep thoughts on the branches. I am a weeping neem tree in the countryside, staring at all the joys and pains of the countryside in a sad and miserable wind and cold rain.
In that ripe and sad winter, I carried a simple bag, shouldered my father's hopes, held my mother's love thread, held a clear bamboo flute, carried endless nostalgia, and followed the path full of yellow reeds and dogtail grasses to the county town where the shadows of the neem trees were turbulent, and a strawberry-like sunset smeared a purple on the blue sky, and then gently slid into the reeds swaying in the wind in the distance. At this time, a cold wind gently blew through, and the heart and reed flowers were as white as the flowers. Since then, my career, my ideals, and my fanghua have all remained in this yellow land, in this small town full of hustle and bustle. There was an inexplicable tide in his eyes.
I am a country neem tree, with the blood of a farmer flowing in my bones, and my temper is also stained with the character of a crop, I stand in my father's surname, like a crop, living in my own four seasons, not humble, no desire is just. Father is gone, forever gone, but the neem tree in front of him stands alone, silently guarding this deserted courtyard and guarding the gradually barren countryside.
Standing in the old country house that is both familiar and strange, looking at the veins of the neem tree, an inexplicable pity surged into my heart, and my eyes couldn't help but blur... I think I will come back in the near future.
About the author Li Xingjia: Member of Shandong Writers Association and Shandong Prose Literature Association. Published the essay collection "Spring Outside the Village" and the news collection "Rammed Songs". The essay "Wheat Harvest Like a Song" was published on the learning platform of learning to strengthen the country and was selected for the book "Fragments of Picking Up 70 Years: My Motherland and Me" jointly compiled by the Propaganda Department, the Central Civilization Office, the Ministry of Education, the Ministry of Culture and Tourism, the China Federation of Literature and Literature, and the China Writers Association. The essays "Father's Tree" and "Listening to Cicadas" were selected as school-based textbooks for Chinese schools in Malaysia.
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