It was on this night when winter was about to pass, and spring was approaching, that I had a sweet dream. I woke up from my dream, the corners of my mouth still slightly raised. For the first time in many years, I had such a dream. In the dream, I met my mother, her young and beautiful appearance—with smooth braids, clean and decent clothes, gentle and loving. When the first rays of the morning sun shine through the eaves and obliquely into the house, there is still that smile at the corner of my mouth. I opened my eyes and took a deep breath, there seemed to be a smell of earth in the air, there was a chirping bird outside the window, so spring suddenly embraced me: "A small bird / The eaves in front of the door / The song of childhood is ringing in the ear / The past grows moss / Cooking smoke spreads through the breeze and slowly rises / A few old trees / Still the original appearance / The hand that threads the needle under the oil lamp / The laughter that embellishes my sleep / The first bloom of the grass in the North Hall / The peach blossoms cling to it / Write parting / I trekked through mountains and waters / just to examine / This great cycle of life again and again". Oh, Mom, when I think of you, the poetry in my heart is like a small river at the mouth of the village - flowing quietly... The quiet and beautiful river, under the brilliant sun, is like a bright mirror. Grass and wildflowers on both sides of the river cover the path, which surrounds the village and extends from north to south.
By the small river, there is a dense layer of small trees, and in the summer, this is the paradise for me and my friends. After breakfast, a group of friends came to the grove, we climbed up the small tree full of green neem fruits, filled the neem fruit with pockets, and one by one, like naughty monkeys, "slipped out" and slid under the tree, quickly took a knife out of the pocket, and dug out two rows of symmetrical round pits in the soft ground, each with eight neem fruits - we squatted on the ground and concentrated on playing a game called "counting kiln". The first game requires calculation and wisdom, after selection, grab the neem in one of the pits, go around the rest of the round pits, put a neem in a pit, wait for the neem in your hand to be released, and then continue to grab the neem in a pit, until you meet an empty round pit, the neem in the next pit is your own trophy, young age, the eyes always burst out of that calculation and more real light, like many years later adults. After game after game, when the sun above them warmly penetrated the woods, a few friends whispered for a while - a plan to wrestle with the adults began. One by one, we stripped naked and jumped into the river like water ducks, we dived, caught fish, touched river mussels... I was having fun, only to see my mother standing on the riverbank in a hurry: "Little Three, come up quickly, slow down and be careful of your ass." "I plunged into the water and hid the cat with my mother, but unfortunately my diving skills are not very good, only a little work, just on the surface of the water, my mother is more anxious: "Little Three, see I don't break you." "I saw my mother's angry and anxious face, and there was a hint of fear in my heart. Unable to fight, I climbed ashore, got dressed, picked up the mussels that we had thrown along the river with both hands, and walked over to my mother: "You see, Mother, give our little flat-mouthed children the meat to eat." My mother gave me a blank look, took my little hand, and reprimanded: "Drown you bear children, you are not allowed to go into the water again." Remember? I nodded and followed my mother home. The afternoon sun scorched the earth, too hot to breathe. The neighbor's aunt and uncle carried the bench, carried the cool mat, and shook the fan, and gathered in this cool grove. They snorted, spoke loudly, laughed heartily, and after a while, the voices gradually lowered, some sinking into sleep in exhaustion, some squinting, still shaking the fan. An old dog lay quietly in the shade of a tree, spitting out its long tongue, dripping saliva, and making a "whirring" exhalation sound from its mouth. The grove was silent, and my friends and I were also interested in stopping playing and playing, squatting quietly on the ground, taking a small branch, watching a group of ants busy, occasionally picking up a feeding ant, watching it rush left and right in a panic, we covered our small mouths one by one, a burst of laughter. At some point, the adults dispersed, we ran home, took out the bread folded with paper, and began a new round of play in the woods, I held the "bread" in one hand, folded its four sides with the other, and then raised my right hand high, "snap-", "Bread" fell in response, and steadily flipped the "bread" of another little friend over, "Wow, I won!" I cheered and picked up the booty, and arrogantly urged my little friend to quickly change another one, and the little friend muttered and slowly took out a new "bread" to continue the fight.
As the sun sets, the smoke rises slowly over the groves, the toiling farmers carry hoes in the twilight to the direction of home, the children disperse, the cattle and sheep return home, everything seems quiet and peaceful. My mother came to the grove and called me home for dinner, I was immersed in the joy of victory, looking at the thick stack of paper "bread", I was full of strength, the more courageous I was, and refused to let my friends go home. It wasn't until it got dark, when a huge amount of energy was released from my small body and the front and back sides of the "bread" became blurred, that I returned home with a large stack of booty. "Come, little three, mom see how much you win." I excitedly led my mother to a snakeskin bag and poured the "bread" hula I had just won into it, "Hun child, smash the bread, the rice will not come back to eat, today I will cure you." Mom picked up the bag that was about to be filled with paper "bread" and walked straight in the direction of the grove, I was confused, I didn't know what my mother was going to do, I trotted all the way, followed by her, my mother turned around and looked at me: "Little Three, remember, this is the end of you not going home on time to eat later." With that, he raised his hand and poured all my paper bread into the creek at once. I cried out "Wow", "Mom, you're so bad. "Mom ignored me, just took my hand and walked back, I cried, took a few steps and turned around to look at the river, silently saying goodbye to all my paper bread. Since then, I have never dared to forget to go home for dinner because of greed. On summer nights in the countryside, there will be a short period of noise, when most people's homes do not have fans and air conditioning, and after meals, people will still come to the woods by the small river again, cool, laugh, pull home... Today, the woods, the river and the mother's harsh reprimand have long been blurred in the distant memory, and only the mother's endless tenderness and beauty remain in the mind. It is in this warm spring that I write again and again, writing down the poetry that flows in my heart. Oh, Mom, I wrote so much, it turned out to be all about you, it moved me to tears, they are like small rivers in the village, slowly flowing in my body...
*About the author: Liu Yongmei: Middle school teacher, likes text and recitation.