Pomegranate flowers bloom and fragrant branches
Text/Crown King
(Web Photo)
After a few spring rains, the warm wind caresses the face, and in the blink of an eye, the breath of summer fills the branches.
People's bodies are also stained with a little summer breath, it is lazy, it is leisurely, it is sleepy eyes under the hot sun. But the crops are spiritual, revealing a golden light, and the yellow earth is like a mother, pregnant with all life with its own temperature.
The thick green leaves, from the low ground to the branches, from the near to the distance, the green seems to absorb the light and heat of the sun, the green is thick and colorful, the green is dazzling, the butterfly seems to be blinded by this green flash, lost in this green leaf bush. In the chanting of the summer cicadas, in this thick green, all things sing the praises of summer.
Growing up in the countryside, I grew up under the nourishment of summer, and every river, every forest, and even every branch was my intimate companion. Every summer, when everything grows, the deepest part of my mind remains, and the clearest thing is the brilliant pomegranate flower in the courtyard of my hometown.
Yes, it is the pomegranate flower, there is a pomegranate tree outside the grandmother's house, every summer vacation back, they all bloom and smile, compared with the bright spring flowers, they are really not gorgeous, but I love to stare at them again and again, every time at this time, grandma always laughs and teases me: "This child is hungry and wants to eat pomegranates." I smiled and snuggled up next to her and asked, "When will I be able to eat pomegranates?" Grandma's answer has never changed, and her smile overflows with every wrinkle, "When your parents come back for the Mid-Autumn Festival." ”
The messy branches reveal vitality, and compared with the tall poplar trees and the feminine willow trees, the pomegranate branches are not beautiful. However, when the pomegranate flower blooms, I am always inexplicably touched, infected by its warm breath, like meeting a loving relative, warmly greeting my arrival, looking at it, I feel warmed and wrapped by endless love.
The pomegranate flower does not bloom for a long time, and it is not long before the enthusiasm of the tree withers, but this is not a pity, because the small gourd-like pomegranate has hung all over the branches, and in the coming autumn, the fist-sized pomegranate will grin, revealing the crystalline fruit grains, and bloom its enthusiasm again. Picking the plump fruits from the branches, the sweetness of honey is diffused between the lips and teeth, and the laughter of the reunited family echoes in the ears.
Later, within a few years, the children who picked pomegranates had not yet grown up, but the old man who planted pomegranates had passed away, and when he returned to the courtyard in the summer vacation, only the willow flowers that were like fire were brilliant alone...
【Author's Profile】Wang Guanjun, a native of Liaocheng, Shandong, is the so-called "reading to cross oneself", so he chose to read, became a literature lover, and survived the difficulties of life with a pen in his hand.