<h1 class = "pgc-h-arrow-right" > text: Rouge Tears</h1>
The warm and fresh breath came to my face, and I felt this beauty with my imagination, and the excitement and joy were difficult to hide, and I was even swimming.
Winter has little impression in my mind, because of the fear of cold, when I was in high school, I curled up in the classroom every day in the haze of boredom and freezing, plus I sat every day at work without heating, and my hands and feet that were originally hot would be cold for a while, and when the day passed, it was already freezing when I left work, almost every year throughout the winter. The sun outside has never been related to itself, and only when walking on the road at noon after work can you feel the warmth of this luxury for a few minutes. So, gradually I became afraid and hated, how this winter is so long, it seems to be a direct transition from summer to summer.
The short and beautiful spring just took over my heart little by little. And the beauty of the memories is in childhood, in the hometown, in the green and vast fields, in the sunny friends around the father and mother around the busy farming and hard work of the day.
In the season when the March grass is long and warblers fly, three friends who have been playing since childhood carry baskets and wear simple and clean clothes to find spring. Along the way, laughter and laughter, chasing and joking into the field where the wheat has just sprouted. The wheat was low, and the little head was exposed to enjoy the warm breeze and the brightness of the sun. We couldn't bear to trample, tiptoed through, and found a small clearing where we could stand, carefully looking for fat wild vegetables. Wild vegetables are also called cabbage in the texts they have learned, and the little girls in that hungry era put cabbage in the paste, and they were already delicious at that time. In fact, I have only eaten a few times since I was a child, making dumplings and making soups, and I still miss the deliciousness of the cabbage when I think about it.
Three little girls, you chase me, each other than who digs more, who digs faster. While busy, while joking, talking about ignorant things. When talking about the boy he likes, he shyly asks about his partner and his related matters, or his impression of the boy. One replied that she liked the boy too, and the other asked the girl who felt vaguely uncomfortable in her heart, and her small mouth pouted and became angry. Carry over and continue looking for wild vegetables. The girl who answered did not speak, calmed down for a while, felt bored, or was blown by the warm wind and her heart fluttered, and she stopped talking about boys, and then started to fight again. The wild vegetables in the basket gradually increased, and the three people did not pursue who was slightly superior, and the excited heart had already flown, leaving the original field and walking along the river, picking up the reed leaves.
The reeds are green and dance with the wind, singing with the reeds. The rustling sound is long and beautiful, and the soft sound of the wind naturally composes the music of spring. In a few months, it will be the Dragon Boat Festival, and the girls will miss the sticky rice dumplings. The cooked glutinous rice is dyed green by palm leaves, carefully peeled by hand, layer by layer, pressing the joy and eagerness of the heart, as if afraid of touching a perfect work of art, the little heart struggles in the temptation of food. Reed leaves are the season of growth, and some of them have matured to be peeled off, but they are still green and green. Approaching, carefully folding from the bottom, and then stacking and placing them piece by piece, holding it in your hand, holding it in your arms, running forward happily, waiting in front of you are bigger reed leaves and more beautiful scenery, more happiness.
Spring is always extremely short, and it is suddenly too late to turn back and hurry through. But happiness is infinitely unforgettable. In fact, I also like the hot summer, and this expectation is even more eager in the terrible cold of winter.
I like the feeling of the sun burning, and the crazy joy in the discomfort. Like to turn off the lights on hot nights, the family puts dinner in the courtyard in the faint moonlight, fanning the fan to avoid mosquitoes and talking and laughing. Dense little bugs always like to linger above people's heads, knowing that the cries of the clams echo each other and form the most memorable and negative song of summer.
My favorite in the evening is to drag a broom with my neighbors to the vegetable patch behind the house to catch dragonflies. Red-and-black dragonflies are the most common, flying in large groups of them, high or low, as if they were not afraid of us, as if they were enjoying free flight without feeling the danger coming, or they regarded our group of children as friends and played together. A group of us children, in the process of catching dragonflies, have been in a state of excitement, actually learned to cooperate, three or two people you pounced on him for safekeeping; one looking for where to see where the rest of the careful quickly ran over to let the dragonflies come by surprise, and at night they took the booty, dragged a somewhat deformed broom to the house, released them in the house or put a few in the mosquito net. Sweet dreams will be had at night, and I will giggle.
I was also impressed by the sound of shouting that drifted into my ears when I was drowsy in the morning. The pure hometown accent is kind and touching the unawakened heart. Mothers, who wake up before dawn, sometimes buy fritters for a dollar or two, and the smell of incense spreads into the room, burrows into the bed, and tempts the stomach that has rested all night to grunt and sing morning songs. Mom would laugh and call us out of bed, claiming that the fritters were gone when we got up late. At first, I would always get up and get dressed and run out to eat, but then when I grew up, my mother's trick didn't work. Because I understand that even when I get up at noon, my mother will leave us with fritters or other food she bought.
People's emotions are like this temperature that has been hot all summer, and gradually it is calm and warm in autumn. The leaves withered and fell, and sorrow surged into my heart, so I liked to curl up at home and read Li Qingzhao, Li Yu's words, heartbreak and thoughts, home sorrows and national worries, I followed them to reminisce, to suffer together, to experience together, to cry together. Immerse yourself in it and watch the dead leaves fall one by one, sighing. "Flowers float freely and water flows freely", as if life is about to dry up and disappear in the autumn, not willing to give up heartache but helpless. Reading the words of others again, I enter another state of mind, into the era of chaos and displacement. It was as if the cries of the war, the poor and the bloody were happening before my eyes, and the scene was unbearable to watch. Autumn is like this, and I am immersed in another kind of desolate scenery.
In the four seasons of the year in my hometown, there are so many unforgettable, and the joy of childhood is all in it. How do you want me to express my love for you? This deep affection let me hide in my heart and slowly brew it.
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