The way home, long and warm

The way home is a distant flute, always sounding at night when there is a moon. After leaving my hometown, the way home became a creeping green plant, crawling all over your heart.

Every wanderer who is far away from home always remembers the way home. It is crooked and potholed, but it connects the distance between home and heart. Every centimeter near his hometown, the wanderer's heart trembled once, until his body threw himself into the arms of his hometown with all his strength.

That winter, blows followed, and life became a mess, full of unsolvable knots. On the night of the first snowfall, I was still wandering the streets. Occasionally, looking up, through the glass window of a hot pot restaurant, I can see a family of three happily eating hot pot. My tears flowed out of nowhere and slid cold down my cheeks.

At that moment, there was only one voice in my heart, I wanted to go home. I longed for the heat of the red coal stove burning in the hall, for the hot hand-rolled noodles made by my mother, and even for my father's reprimand with the smell of tobacco...

So I sent a car search message in the hometown group, and fortunately there was a big truck pulling coal that would pass by the village entrance of my hometown. So I quickly contacted the mobile phone, and the same young man who was working outside agreed to take me for a ride. Agreeing on a place to get on the bus, I called a taxi and went straight to the highway intersection.

After getting into the big truck and saying a few words of greeting to the driver's big brother, I sat in the passenger seat and looked out the window. The driver's eldest brother said loudly about the interesting things on the coal transport road, and I muttered to it. I think he was probably too lonely, a long road, only he was alone, and I was his rare audience.

Big trucks gallop on the highway, and the street lights recede quickly one by one. I always looked out the window, trying to identify the places passing by, silently calculating the distance from home in my mind.

Finally, the big truck got off the highway in the county town of my hometown. The scenery in the county town is much more lively than the highway, with neon lights flashing like daylight, and the roads are bustling with traffic. I remembered the high school years when I was struggling to study in this small town, when I desperately wanted to fly out, but tonight I was desperate to fly back to my hometown.

The big trucks continued to move forward, passing through villages that I knew. I have been on this road countless times, and I am familiar with the gas stations, small restaurants, car repair shops on the side of the road...

Finally, the big truck stopped at the entrance of the village. After thanking the driver's eldest brother, I quickly jumped off the truck, and the moment my feet stepped on the ground, a warm current rushed from the soles of my feet to my heart.

I called my father and told him I was at the entrance to the village. Father was surprised and asked how to come home suddenly, and I only said that you hurried to pick me up on a motorcycle.

I walked slowly toward home, the night in the countryside was extremely quiet, and a thin layer of snowflakes had fallen on the road, shining in the light of the street lamp. I walked step by step, and the long street was the only one that I returned late in the snow.

First I heard the sound of a motorcycle engine, then a pillar of light, getting closer and closer, and my father appeared in front of me wrapped in a large cotton coat. I boarded the motorcycle and my father asked me how I had suddenly returned.

I didn't answer, but just buckled the hat of the down jacket on my head, and my body clung tightly to my father's broad back.

On the way, my father was still asking why he had suddenly returned, whether there was an accident outside. I rested my head on my father's shoulder and whispered, "Dad, I think you still have my mother." ”

Father stopped talking, and he increased his horsepower and flew in the direction of home.

I saw my mother, standing under the wooden door, her hands tucked into each of her sleeves, hunched over her waist, as if she had been waiting for a long time.

When I entered the house, I fell asleep on my head. That night, I seemed to degenerate into a carefree baby, sleeping in the warm arms of my mother, unwilling to even dream.