"The Road Homecoming"

It is often said that where the parents are, the home is. Parents are here, and there is still a place in life. The Spring Festival is the thread that connects the two ends of flesh and blood, which reminds me of the children in the eyes of my parents.

In the years of confusion, I have been from my hometown to a foreign land for nearly 30 years. Along the way, although it cannot be said that it is like another world, the willow silk that sways with the wind has become a messy silver thread in the wind, and the past is still faintly like a dream, all with the wind and rain.

I don't remember the first time I left my hometown, but I always look forward to every way home. After my father settled in the remote mines, the rolling mountains were the pulse of my heartbeat, and I also returned to the countryside with my mother, and the clear streams of the mountains were my cheerful mood. I don't know what the outside world is like, but part of my youth's time is spent in the blossoming sunset of the mountains. Every time I returned from winter vacation, I squeezed on the shuttle bus to the mine early, and my mood ran wild on the bumpy and winding mountain road, which also honed my ability to never get motion sickness. The car traveled through the mountains, swirling around the mountainside, and when indulging in the mountain beams, everything suddenly opened up, and upward was the vast sky, and the house on the opposite side of the mountain was dense, and the place where the cooking smoke rose was my home; compared with the majestic mountains, it was small and inconspicuous, and it would be inadvertently skipped, but it was the direction in which I returned home as a young man; I knew that at this moment my father would not wait for me on the side of the road, and when I woke up from my dream, I would definitely be able to see him. The mountains in front of me, the land under my feet, and the thousands of mining workers under thousands of ravines, for the sake of the country's more human fireworks, smeared themselves and dedicated their youth for generations; now I think of my young world, which is filled with the care of my father's love like a mountain.

When the festival is celebrated, the dishes are cooked, and I just have to pinch it a little more carefully, and my daughter will say: This is the taste of my grandmother's house. I'll smile, yes, inheritance can also be taste. Not only did I control the smell, but my daughter remembered it.

From the doll falling to the ground to the peach and plum years, we all Chinese New Year's Eve the sound of cannonballs, push open the door of the house, and spend countless hours next to the stove of the adobe house. Every time I got home, I would call out a voice to let my mother know where she was. Sometimes my mother would respond on the terrace, and sometimes the vegetable garden behind me would unexpectedly stick her head out, see us smile and close our mouths, and quickly put down the work in our hands and say: "So far away, hard!" "Grandma, it's not hard," the daughter said hurriedly.

Walking into the kitchen, the afterscent of the Chinese New Year's Eve food has not dispersed, the familiar taste is still around the beam, and the taste of home is deep and clear under the superposition of tastes again and again. I was born here that year, and my daughter was also toddlers in the aisle leading to the kitchen, where the floor was covered with soft soil, and there were a few small glasses of light on the roof tiles, and when there was sunlight, dust could be seen "dancing". The sloping pillar of light is the yardstick for the change of the four seasons, and whenever the willows are green and the peach blossoms are burning, the swallows will fly and continue to build nests on the eaves. Accompanied by the elderly mother, the body is still tough.

On the earth stove, the large pot is still scattered with residual temperature, imagining the steaming scene of yesterday. It could be a stewed chicken, maybe it's the authentic button meat made by the eldest brother, or the tofu stuffed that I'm good at. Whatever it is? They will gladly accept it, and use the taste sublimated by the temperature to warm the stomach and warm the heart, not only the delicious food, but also the happiness of reunion.