Can't walk out of Sun Zhuang
Text/Chang Hongyan
(Web Photo)
The ancestors returned and walked in the wheat fields of the wilderness. The sky was blue, and the sun was shining unobstructed, sprinkling on the wheat fields, on the treetops, and in the villages not far away, and everywhere was bright and bright.
The wheat seedlings were black and fishy, lying on the ground. The wheat field was soft and spongy, and when I stepped on it, it was like stepping on a cotton pile, and it was instantly trapped. The originally flat field was stepped on by me, leaving a deep imprint, and the time we walked by seemed to leave nothing behind. If you must find a trace, it may be the white hair of this blessed body and sideburns.
Because fireworks are prohibited, the fields are very quiet. A few magpies roam the fields, one moment flying, the other falling, not far from you, and not afraid of people. What are they afraid of? They are the masters of the place, I am just a passer-by. Or an uninvited guest who suddenly breaks into their lives. Several quails suddenly jumped up from the field, skimmed in the low air, and fell again. When I was a child, the second uncle once took us to arrest them, and then gradually decreased, and I didn't want to meet them again today, but the second uncle had been dead for many years. A wild pigeon flew from this row of trees to another. The spread wings, passing through the blue sky, were summoned in the distance by the cries of "cuckoo" and "cuckoo".
When I was a child, there used to be such a warm afternoon, a person lying in a wheat field, pillowing the ridge, with his eyes wide open, wanting to see the end of the sky. Wonder if the sun will be lonely, no big universe, they are far apart. I closed my eyes and understood that the cang in "Heavenly Cang" is the meaning of cyan. The ancients honestly did not deceive themselves.
When I was a child, the big road that we thought was very far away in our hearts, which we called the "big road", was so close to me. Those tall poplar trees are still alive in my memory, and when we were children, we would pick up the biggest and most beautiful leaves, at the roots of the leaves, and wear them, long bunches. Dragging behind him, the sound of "whoosh" and "whoops" follows behind. Green, yellow, half yellow and half green, yellow with black, colorful, not lively. When he returned home, he put it on his mother's firewood pile and became a big braid in the firewood pile. The firewood pile was as beautiful as a little girl.
The ditch next to the road used to be our happy paradise, swimming, chasing, playing, once catching a fish that made us proud for half a year, and now that I think about it, that joy is still there.
Not far from the road, it is - Sun Zhuang. Ji Changye, the insurance policy, the second uncle, the sea lady, is still alive in my pen.
The village's vehicles came in and out, and the new year had begun, and they had their own journey, but they would be back next year.
I didn't go, I looked at Sun Zhuang, I waited for them.
The treetops in the distance glow silver in the sun and soon turn blue, green, and sprout. The new year is about to start again, and my grandson Zhuang is one year old again.
【Author's Profile】Chang Hongyan, an ordinary rural teacher and literature lover, records his life with words after work, and sometimes has small articles in the newspaper.