— The distance of time, illuminated by a beam of childhood light. The wish made that morning was the fragrance of going home.
The snow covered the purple clouds in the green and permeated with purple and red thin rods. On the field, the narrow path, the snow is sandwiched with mud, mud and snow. The wind and snow hat he wore could not hold down the scattered ends of his hair, allowing the wind to blow on his eyes and mouth, and his face was frozen red. Get up early, knowing that there will be wind and snow, but luckily do not bring any rain gear, with parents will send raincoats and rain boots. The bell had not yet sounded after school, and they were already standing in front of the classroom hallway.
— The far side of time, wandering for a tree of youth. The alleys that crossed that afternoon were green mailboxes and places where thoughts were placed.
Pieces of farmland after harvest, lying there freely. The yellow-yellow stubble suddenly pestles, and the buffalo dozing idly. After crossing the alley, passing a small stone bridge, walking down the bridge, walking along the small polder for two or three miles, and then passing through a small forest, I saw a production team. When it is almost the New Year, most of the time it is snowing, and the school is on holiday, but the girls in the production team look at the snow and always have a pair of eyes of expectation and waiting. At the intersection where I was looking forward to the team, there was a dancing teenager who braved the snow, or a postman on a bicycle who braved the snow to send a Phenom.
— The distance of time, the willingness to build a fence of happiness. That babbling, toddler, but the heart is a piece of clear.
I always start to miss in the snow, and I feel worried after the snow. I can't remember how many times I didn't know the right or wrong choice, and how many times I experienced a farewell that I didn't want to send a farewell. The struggle between willingness and reluctance, regret and non-regret, when the child seems to have achieved something, and the most painful post, vaguely remembered. "I wrote my homework in the library for a whole day, and when I walked out of the school gate, the street lights on both sides were already on, and the breeze was cool, and the lights seemed to see my father waiting for me at the school gate in high school to study for the evening..."
—The far side of time is the gaze that condenses Dad's love. The years that have flowed away and cannot be recovered, like the warm sun of winter, illuminate the pace of progress.
Whether it was in a snowy year or in a snowless year, Dad always ignored Mom's blame and stored many, many New Year goods. A pot of golden balls, bags of rice candy, and firecrackers that Dad and the children ordered Chinese New Year's Eve first. Then, the children are distributed the red envelopes prepared in advance, and the family welcomes the New Year with joy.
Time is like water, and all today will be the far side of tomorrow. Cherish today, be grateful for today, and let the distant side of time be filled with sweet aftertastes!