On such a night, the snow is flying, and people seem to be in a quiet and tranquil situation, and they have come to a crystal clear fairytale world. Everything is filtering, everything is sublimating, even my soul is purifying, becoming pure and beautiful.
At night, tapping on the cold keyboard, my eyes were inevitably a little astringent and painful. Snowy nights are always surprisingly quiet, so quiet that you can hear your inner voice. I am always obsessed with recording the beauty of the snowy night, as if I can get infinite power from the words.
Unconsciously, the last cold of the year has quietly arrived. This means that the old year is coming to an end, and at the same time, the new year is beckoning to us. "Has this year passed like this?" A small voice in my heart was asking me, and for a moment, I became a little overwhelmed. Although the sun and the moon are marching, the twilight is rotating, and the new year always has to replace the previous year, where will there be a completely identical new year?
At this moment, there are snowflakes flying outside the window, such a magnificent snow scene, such a enchanting moonlight, it is really unforgettable.
Or maybe it is too sentimental by nature, the residual snow butterflies fly into dreams, and when will they return at night and dawn? Pieces of snowflakes fell softly on the ground, as if telling a story. No one will know what the story is, it will only melt and solidify over time.
For Chinese, as soon as you enter the waxing moon, there will always be something particularly worth looking forward to.
I vaguely remember that before leaving the cabinet, on the eighth day of the first lunar month, I could always drink the porridge carefully boiled by my mother. On the day of the festival stove, you can eat firewood and roast it, and the crisp and sweet sacrifice stove is burned. The thick and hot sweetness seemed to melt in the heart of the god of Vesta.
"Worshiping the God of Vesta" is a traditional festival that we Chinese, and the simple ceremony carries the good wishes and blessings of the people, and also wishes for the prosperity of our motherland and the happiness and health of the people in the coming year. The twenty-third day of the lunar month is also called the small year, and every year on this day, my family always holds a solemn sacrifice ceremony, and my mother is always cautious about this.
I believe that whether it is the 60s, 70s or 80s and 90s, all those who have lived in the countryside should be familiar with the wood stove made of mud. Seeing that it was the day of the sacrificial stove, early in the morning, a large group of us divided their work in an orderly manner, and were busy in an orderly manner under the command of my mother. There are choppers and fires, and as for the role of "Yang Paifeng", the fire burner, I am naturally the only one.
Without telling you, this is the first time I have taken on such an interesting task. Watching the thunderclap of firewood burst out from time to time in the fire, it was like a beautiful note. And the mother's dexterous hands turned the baked cake lying on the iron concave over, and in less than a moment, the small fire on the sacrificial stove had already taken on a golden crisp skin, and the aroma of brown sugar inside also flowed out with the edge of the steamed bun. The rich smell of steamed buns mixed with the exuberant pyrotechnics, at that moment, even the air was filled with the smell of sweet silk, until we brothers and sisters salivated. Just wanted to stretch out my hand to taste it quickly, but I was stopped by my mother in time. My mother said to us in a serious tone, "These cannot be eaten until the sacrifice of the Stove King, and after eating what the Stove King has eaten, it will become more and more intelligent." The young me seemed to understand and nodded. The past scenes are like yesterday, like a movie that is being released, thinking, thinking, and the feeling of happiness comes slowly.
Listening to his mother, The Emperor of the Stove would go to heaven on the twenty-third day of the waxing moon every year to report to the Jade Emperor on the big and small affairs of this year's family. In order to enable the king of the stove to "go to heaven to say good things and return to the palace to ensure peace", every household must hold a ritual sacrifice on this day. It is also under the influence of a custom that people will always prepare many sticky and sweet sugar melons at the time of the stove, hoping to stick to the mouth of the king of the stove and leave a few more beautiful words. After listening to the ins and outs of the "sacrifice stove god", I couldn't help but chant in my heart, I didn't expect that this sacrifice stove was really exquisite, and in the future, I would also pass on such a beautiful folk custom from generation to generation.
After the fire of the sacrificial stove was burned, the mother also had to put the portrait of the king of the stove on the kitchen stove. Subsequently, offerings such as wine, vegetables, candy, etc., together with the fire of the sacrificial stove, incense candles are lit and offered to the stove. Then, slowly, wisps of cigarettes swirled up and down the kitchen, and even the originally unremarkable pork on the table became crystal clear under the candlelight. The smoke filled the air, as if he were in a fairyland, as if the king of the stove in the story had really come to the mortal world. Looking at the vivid portrait on the stove, I can't help but feel a sense of awe in my heart.
At this time, the mother will reverently make a wish in the ear, "Grandpa Stove, may you bless our whole family with good health in the coming year, and bless the country with smooth winds and rains..."
Traditional customs reflect the rich cultural heritage of the Chinese nation, and also rely on unique national ideals and feelings. Just like the Spring Festival festival stove, seeking the peace of the four seasons, seeking the abundance of grains, and seeking is a rich New Year's flavor.
It was another snowy night like no other, and I burst into tears when I looked out the window at the flakes that had not yet been raised by the wind. I don't know whether I was touched or confused, because of the childhood that I could not forget for a long time in my heart, it was my mother's love that made my world always blossom in spring.
The existence of snowflakes is short and brilliant, and the life in the snow is fragile and strong. The memory of winter is like a cold plum blooming in the snow, the dark fragrance floating, refreshing the heart. Warm me on this snowy winter day. The beauty and cruelty of the snow are like the roads we have traveled, and we will realize the most distant dreams in the cold and freezing, playing a sweet song, swaying in the cottage and flowing in my heart.
About author:Zhang Xiaofang, a native of Jiyuan, Henan, is a lover of literature. Worked for Jiyuan Beidou Survey and Design Institute Co., Ltd.
Editor-in-charge: Wang Fang Yuanxiu Ruogu | Editor: Chen Li | Image: Network