Text/Blue Moonlight
The hut worm is the sparrow, which is its milk name and the nickname given to it by the Central Plains Pudi people. It's like calling a child a dog egg and a two-leftover. When the Pudi people pronounce it, the house will bend and elongate, like a cooking smoke that goes around, and there is a kind of kindness in the words. Why is it called a cabin bug? It is because it lives with the hut, and "worm" is the countryman's nickname for smaller animals.
When I think of the cottage worm, my heart overflows with a kind of kindness. Indeed, it is good to call it smaller, it has accompanied me growing up, and it is the most familiar and common bird I know.
Pudi people built houses mostly tile houses, green brick blue tiles, and later red walls and blue tiles, the earliest is still a blank wall, thatched roof, but no matter what the house, the lower half of the habitat, the upper half is the home of the cottage worm. Often painstakingly, painstakingly built a new house, people do not live, walk in, inside is a piece of twitter, chaos, sunlight, window sills, roof beams, are their fluttering shadows, measure the direction, look at the new home. Yes, no invitations, no invitations, they are preconceived, as if they were the masters. This is not an exaggeration, now there are many empty courtyards in the countryside, which are full of sparrows, and people have gone far, and the sparrows have become the masters left behind.
It's a snuggled bird and a cute bird. They seem to be inherently weak, like to snuggle up to people, where people are, they are there, like cats and dogs. They were very diligent, and every morning, they woke up early. In the old courtyard in the countryside, there is a pomegranate tree outside the window, green and bright, and the oil can be seen. This is their stage. In the courtyard, there are sycamores everywhere, pavilions like umbrellas, and cool breezes. This is their playground. Twittering, chirping, chirping, churning, jumping, flying, they can be cheerful, they can be vigorously noisy. Hungry, the debris on the ground, the grains of rice, are their best food.
In the past, there were chickens in the family, there were chicken coops in the corner of the yard, and the nylon chicken net woven by the mother could block cats and dogs, as well as weasels, but it could not block the wind and rain, the starlight of the dark night, and the cottage worms. They jump in and out, picking up scraps to eat. It is not stable in eating, not a little looking, beating while eating, and its head is stretched like a rattle. If you criticize it, it will laugh: I am like this, what is the matter with you?
They love to be lively and talk a lot. In addition to the regular meetings in the early morning, they also like to stay in the branches in the evening. Sometimes it's like a meeting, hovering on a few branches, you say a word, it says a sentence, there is an order at the beginning, but it is not a big meeting, this "will" is chaotic, it is chattering into a piece, as if arguing about something, and then waiting for the meeting, suddenly it becomes a mess, the old sparrow stretches its wings, flapples and fights, and uses force like a thorn ball.
When the excitement comes, they will also take the children to "fly". The little guy's wings are still weak, and he falls down after a few flights, in the grass, or on the brick floor. This is very dangerous, sharp-eyed children see, will chase, take the long pole while hitting and shouting, if you encounter cats and dogs, it is even more rude, almost a dead end, they play with their paws a few times, directly into their stomachs.
At this time, the more panicked the little sparrow became, the more it could not fly, and it worked hard, gasped for breath, and after a few more strokes, its wings flapped again, but it finally could not jump on the wall. This was the most painful moment for the sparrow's parents, although they were shouting, making noise, scolding, flapping, and threatening in the air, and their voices had changed, but what could they do?
I have seen a little sparrow fall into the grass, can't fly, the children chase, the sparrow parents hover in the air, flapping their wings, when the child's small hand holds the little sparrow, the parent's wings are going to hit the child's face, the mouth is going to peck the child's face - for the weak sparrow, how much courage is required! Now think about it, children are not more troublesome, and the heart of the sparrow parents to protect the calves is also natural.
But don't think it's gentle, it has a fierce nature. I once caught a sparrow and kept it in a cage. But it just barks, feeds water without drinking, puts in a plate of cooked millet (the family is feeding the chickens), does not look at it, presses its head hard, and does not open its mouth. The next day I got stiff. Only then did I believe the words of the townspeople: the sparrow is a thunderbird, the hardest, and people cannot feed it.
In the third grade of elementary school, my father built an attic in his old house, and my brother and I often moved small stools, climbed into the attic, and stood on the eaves to pick up small sparrows. On the wall, there are indeed grass nests, the grass is a fluffy fine grass, as well as rope, cloth. Sometimes it was empty inside, sometimes there were a few eggs, the size of pigeon eggs, gray and brown. Sometimes there are naked, red chicks. The newly hatched little sparrow is really ugly, and people can not be associated with the cute sparrows that have grown up.
I often think that the sparrow is close to people, but it adheres to principles, maintains its own freedom and independence, never settles, never welcomes, is this a valuable quality? Many people don't have this quality.
Maybe it is too close, no matter where you go, see its figure, hear its call, the heart is overflowing with warmth and touch, just want to call out affectionately - the cottage worm, like calling a childhood friend. But there is also a worry in my heart - the tile houses are disappearing, and they will become buildings in the future, the natives of this village, this lovely local spirit, where is their home? Where can they rest their fragile bodies and soft souls?