Pu River
Qi Yaping
PuHe is like someone in the past, and every time I think of it, it is a long series of stories - the waves of puhe river lapped on the rocks on both sides and quickly rebounded. It seems that it is just a person's ups and downs, and no one pays attention, every day. People who walk on the shore sometimes throw a stone into the river, stir up thousands of waves, and walk away without looking...
When spring comes, the sky always has an unexpected delicacy, both colorful and clear, the clouds and mist swirl back and forth over the Pu River, the spring cold is still obvious, but the temperature of the sun is more in this cold.
Spring has come, the earth is a mess of harmony, and there is no longer the indifference of winter.
Spring is over, and there is always a lot of hope. The rain has not yet arrived, and after the spring snow melts, it soaks the mountains and mountains, the grass is exposed, the apricot blossoms are blooming, and it is not far from the butterflies. Clouds filled the sky at some point, and the flowers were like hibiscus out of the water, wet and floating under the sun. Those rising water vapors, hanging upside down above the riverbed, slowly moving closer to the high places, and then unable to bear it, gradually turned into a lump of cotton, moving rapidly, such a high place is likely to be more windy, cloudy, water vapor, are involuntarily at ease.
There was another gust of wind, and this time it was time to be sure that it was the southwest wind, and the strong smell of grass gently rushed into the nose. Another gust of wind came and blew away the smell of grass, and there was nothing left. Immediately afterward, the spring wind blew mightily, forcefully, and without a group, roaring for a long time from the east or west, blowing this powerful and thick land day and night. Puhe opened his eyes, the earth was changing with each passing day, and layers of green stretched out, not only on the shore, but also on the crops.
When I passed here again and again, feeling something far away at the speed of the car, I had unspeakable excitement, only to find that every scene in the past was very warm, whether happy or sad, it was so powerful. The grass and trees of Puhe have taken root in the past and will take root and sprout in the future. And the people on the shore always seem to leave in desperation, and any oath and determination will eventually be lost. In every kind of helplessness we understand a little thing, we will go a little further.
This year's spring came quickly, and the flowers and grasses on the shore survived the long winter, and they were thriving without noticing. In the fields by the river, the east and west piles were all half-man tall wild artemisias, the stones on the riverbed were exposed, and some birds and finches who had not survived the winter fell in the middle of the stones at some point and quietly closed their eyes. Their bodies are not yet completely decayed. Only the bag is a little wider than the pu river water, quietly bypassing the corpses of birds and finches, still maintaining the nature of water: the water of the Pu river always meticulously waters the crops on both sides... Not far away, the village women beat the cattle on the river beach, piled up the soles of the embroidered insoles, the cattle carefully nibbled the grass, and the grass that was cracked in the stone was also clean, and the grass that was pierced inches deep filled the river beach with green. The sky above the Pu River has become the world of birds with long wings and short wings, and their long and short songs are tirelessly stirring for spring, and I can't call their names.
Near the Daima River Dam, the view is wide, both sides of the river are full of wheat fields and Akita, farmers have rake the field to fertilize, spring is coming, to plant flax beans and potatoes and corn, turned over the land, dark and warm, walk in and immediately submerge people's feet. This side of the river is a hardened road, and there are some unknown small flowers scattered on the grassy slope on the side of the road, and there are cars that quickly drive past the hardened road, and only a dotted line is seen when they look up.
Embracing the Pu River is a stone mountain towering into the sky, people have built cave dwellings on the mountain, trees have been planted in front of everyone's door, the trees have not yet budded, from a distance, the black pressure, quite a bit of old tree painting flowing and radiance. A few faded stone tablets stand alone in the farmer's wheat field, and if you look at it more, you will feel that some long-ago story is about to be told by someone.
Sometimes after passing here, getting off the bus and slowly walking into the river beach, the thought coincides with a moment of the student era, and suddenly I want to cry - in the past, wading through the water to the other side, walking a long way, and then wading over, so the scene of walking more than thirty miles back and forth to go to middle school is so precious! Today, the river beach is full of exposed pebbles, the river water has been pitifully small, and the place where the water cannot be flooded is covered with barren grass. Walking over the wild grass, looking slowly with his head down, he finally couldn't find the splashing waves when a fierce son plunged into the river as a child, only the strange shape of the stone that hurt his toes from time to time. Walking like this, like looking for memories, and like losing it, only to find that not only the river has dried up, as if many things have been dried, I can't help but feel sad, so I threw off my sleeves and got into the car, and the dust went away...
In fact, the stones that are washed out by the river are very beautiful. However, I have no habit of picking up stones, not looking at them much, leaving them alone. I remember the time when I was salvaging tadpoles in the river, and at that time, salvaging a bottle, filling it with water, and watching the tadpoles swim around was a kind of thing that could arouse interest. Later, I was finally told a big truth by my mother, and I released them. Although I didn't give up in my heart, I finally understood in my mother's nagging voice that all things have spirits and have their own rules of survival, and they can't be forcibly changed.
The only black pebble I picked up when I was a child was kept in a porcelain bowl full of water-blue edges, and the smooth and shiny stone had been soaked in the water for many years, and every time I looked at it a few times, I felt that a bowl of tadpoles was swimming, which was enough to see how nostalgic I was for tadpoles. My sister was different, what she loved most was the stones in the river, big and small, and she lifted up her clothes, held them in her arms, and put them in her own small basket, not allowing others to touch them. My sister always cleaned up the house clean and bright, sprinkled water on the floor, swept over and over again, the kiln was covered with old newspapers that the third grandfather wanted, and the bedding on the kang was folded over and over again until it was satisfied. My sister was reluctant to go to school in the first grade, when she was not yet married, and often made me a pair of soft shoes with waste cloth, let me wear them and walk outside the gate and stand against the wall. My sister said she couldn't go on the road, for fear of being pricked by something, because the soft shoes were only sewn up with three or four layers of waste cloth. My sister was so industrious since childhood, all day long in the needle and thread cooking and cleaning these trifles, Dad said that she is a girl who lives a life, unlike me always have so many tricky and strange ideas, and later proved that Dad is right, Sister is always satisfied with this quiet and satisfied life, there are few troubles. However, after reading some books, I could not be clear, and I kept adding weight to my thoughts, often embarrassed.
When I was young, I always followed my father to wash the sheep on the Puhe River Dam, once a year to wash such sheep, My father put almost all the goats, in the summer we drove the sheep all the way from the mountains to the river dam, the waterline roared down, playing layers of whirlpools, I was happy to be broken, the shoes were taken off and had long been drilled into the water, at that time it would be breaststroke, and it would float motionless on the surface of the water. When I had enough of playing, My father had already washed the sheep, and when it was almost dusk, we drove the sheep up the long slope of the Daima River, and Dad often opened his throat and roared all the way to the Qin Cavity, occasionally joking with people across the mountain, those dialects with local characteristics, I still remember a lot. When I grew up, I always liked to run to the river bank to read, the river flowed quietly and no one came over, I read a book alone and looked up to see a beautiful bird and bird, I ran to chase, I couldn't catch up and went back to the shore to continue reading, when the sky and the earth were far away, the river was vast, and the time was so beautiful.
In the spring, people on the shore will carry basins to the river to wash clothes, women will comb their combs with saliva to comb their hair shiny, brightly colored shirts are blown up by the wind, squatting down and standing up is a beautiful landscape. There are young men who go into the water and step on the waves, splashing their shirts, and inevitably being scolded by the women. After washing a piece of clothing, they hung on the barren grass on the river beach, and the clothes in their hands had not yet been washed, and the clothes they were wearing were already dry. The cool summer breeze blew down the river, and they put their feet into the water to wash them, folded their clothes and carried them home.
There is a natural spring on the river beach every few miles, and people who used to live on the shore would drive donkeys down the river every morning and at noon to drive water, and when the barrel sounded, there were always children running in front of them, playing in the water. At that time, the pu river was very wide and deep, and adults were always afraid that the child would be swept away by the water, so after filling the barrel with water, they pulled the child out of the water and coaxed it home. In fact, there are also many children who fall into trachoma when adults are not paying attention and can no longer be found... Because I was always told by my father, I remembered not being able to swim in a place where the water was spinning fast, which was probably a trachoma. Sometimes, a group of us little ones played in the water, and we started a water fight, this picked up the stone and threw it into the water to splash the water, the one who picked up the stone splashed this body of water, and finally we all became water people, and the hair and face were dripping down. On the way home, splashing another body of dust, he turned himself into a clay man, and no one could escape a good fight.
About author:Qi Yaping, a native of Qingyang Town, Gansu Province, is a member of Qingyang Writers Association. Passionate about literature, he has insisted on writing for many years, and his works have been published in "Shenzhou Literature", "Yellow River Literature and Art", "Rural Masses", "Dadu River", "Gansu Economic Daily", "Zhanjiang Daily", "Baoding Radio and Television News", "Liaoning Literature and Art", "5:30 Poetry Journal", "Beidou", "Kowloon", "Yellow River Elephant", "Mountain Soul" and other paper media.
One Point No. Scroll Wenyuan