Author: Zhang Xueyong
When I was a child, I dreamed of the river, and when I grew up, I dreamed of the countryside. Washed stars and moon, lotus pond green, a pillow of dreams, lotus fragrance.
In May, I miss my hometown. A wind frightened the day, and the trees divided into three fields. At the beginning of the light rain, the fragrance of flowers is shallow. Poetry and books are often accompanied, and the green water is full of smoke and wind.
The dusk of May is the most beautiful state of mind. Take a handful of evening breezes, crystal curtains move, plant a rose, and flowers are beautiful. The moonlight is like the song of water insects, and the best period is like a dream.
Who is the country and the city? Who's the eyebrows of whom? Smile and drink for years, and the lonely flowers bloom and cherish the love.
There are three fields behind the house, and my father often grows vegetables. I learned to be leisurely, and cauliflower bloomed lonely. Don't live up to a curtain of rain, don't live up to watering vegetables, a little beautiful, and the years are full of collisions.
One thought of the hometown wind, one thought of the back field of the house. The deep and shallow look back, the moss that grows over the years. Memories walk in the lines of poetry, the years fly in the fragrance, some are submerged by time, and some are forgotten by the passing years. There is only one sentence left: three points of affection, seven points of missing.
Perhaps, this is the romance we have encountered in our years, perhaps, this is the deep longing. You farm beautifully in May, and I miss my hometown in the shallow summer.
May, it should be the season of green, fat, red and thin, people in the end of the world, the words are less and the love is long, take a handful of time, and brew the beauty of May.