In October, the sichuan western plateau is enchanted by the beautiful scenery. Dodging the surging crowds of the National Day holiday, I headed west again alone.
The morning sun swept over the pass, like a golden ribbon sprinkled on the meadows and poplar forests. In the distance, the dotted tibetan houses raised smoke, and it was a hard-working Tibetan girl boiling butter tea.
From Chengdu to Kangding is already a high-speed, it only takes more than three hours to reach, but my destination is not Kangding. Out of Kangding City, along the 318 National Highway over the 4200-meter-high Zheduo Mountains, along the winding road spiral down, the terrain gradually soothed and flattened.
This is the paradise of the long-known photographers - Xinduqiao. Although there is a bridge in the name, it is not a bridge, and the only thing that has a little bit to do with the bridge is that it is a narrow valley, like a colored bridge without piers between the mountains.
In the past, every October, xinduqiao always had a heavy snowfall when the leaves were yellowing. When the snowflakes are flying in the mountains, Dolma will call and whisper to me in her Tibetan voice: "It's snowing again, when will you come?" ”
Whenever I heard her soft voice on the other end of the phone, mixed with snowflakes shouting, my heart would drift to the distant Xindu Bridge. I remembered again that a heavy snow would knock down the leaves of the poplars, and when the snow melted, the wind that folded the mountains would roll up a yellow leaf and scatter it everywhere.
This special trip is not to see the beauty of this place, for me, who has been here to help people in the village for two years, everything here has become commonplace, and this time I just wanted to think of a wish of Dolma.
When I was stationed in the village, I promised that she would come back to see her and see her and her fellow villagers. She said she would wait until the first snow to come back, when the scenery was at its most beautiful. So every autumn she called me on the first snow, and that was five years.
I didn't tell Dolma in advance, I wanted to surprise her. After getting off the 318 National Highway and turning into the country road, I slowed down and opened the window, and the poplars on both sides flapped in the wind, and from time to time flapped yellow leaves, and the golden fields were full of people, and three or five Tibetan compatriots were harvesting barley.
After a while I came to Dolma's house. This is a small farm yard full of Tibetan characteristics, and the wooden house in the small courtyard was still built by my group for her family. I slammed the wooden door hard and shouted Dolma's name.
But the old man did not respond for half a day. He was about to call Dolma when an old man on a motorcycle passed by, when he suddenly made a sharp brake and turned his head and shouted, "Old Zhang, is it really you?" "I fixed my eyes on it, and it turned out to be Uncle Zeren, who was also a villager in this village."
I greeted him warmly, shook his hand tightly, and told him that I was back to see Dolma and everyone. Uncle Zeren told me that when Dolma's grandmother died a few years ago, she lost her only relative in the world, and she didn't want to stay here alone after that.
Two months ago, Dolma and the neighbors around her simply said goodbye, saying that she was going to Chengdu to find something to do, they all let Dolma go to Chengdu and then asked me for help, Dolma agreed without question, and there was no news in these two months, but I didn't expect that I was completely unaware.
I hurriedly dialed Dolma's cell phone, but there was a cold shutdown sound on the other end of the phone. My mood suddenly became extremely heavy, full of anxiety and uneasiness. I didn't expect that Dolma's grandmother had passed away, and I didn't expect that she didn't contact me when she went to Chengdu. After a few brief greetings with Uncle Zeren, I walked back with a heavy heart.
Several schoolchildren returned from school, chased and frolicked and disappeared into the courtyard of the village house along the road. I drove slowly through a poplar forest and through a golden meadow, not realizing that this was not the way home.
The wind brushed my hair, the fallen leaves hit the car window, and I felt like a twilight antelope, one looking at the sky, one lost, one bathed in blue sorrow. I can't remember the time I had to swim through the river, nor could I remember the melancholy on the other side of the mountain, the golden wind was crushed by me, and the Gesang flowers at dusk were still enchanting.
I don't know when I will be able to contact Dolma.