I often dream of going back to my hometown, dreaming of the woods pierced by the sun, the trickling stream, the meandering shoreline and the big river that carries the story, and the clear sky and the brilliant galaxy.
The scenes in everyone's dreams are based on their own living environment. The foundation of the dream that my hometown compiled for me has continued for many, many years.
My family lives by the river and has loved swimming since I was a child. The adults are busy with farm work, so swimming is secretly self-taught.
The swimming skills of many small partners come from a variety of sources. Some of them tied him to a plastic bucket, tied the plastic bucket with a rope, dragged him in his own hands, and then threw him into the river with the bucket, and threw him into the river to learn by himself; some grabbed a tube of dry bamboo and kicked the water; some followed the older people who could swim and learned on their own in the shallow water...
Yes, it's dangerous, but adults who are busy with farm work don't have time to watch all the time. Even if you sometimes take time to catch a pi child who is secretly swimming, it is a guerrilla war that hides in Tibet and cannot be caught at all.
That big river is beautiful. The most beautiful thing is the late spring and early summer, the blue water is full of water, the scales are rippling, and the business on both sides of the strait is full of business. Because I lived very close to the river, for a long time, every time I closed my eyes, I saw the sun shining on the river, the sparkling waves illuminating my sleepy eyes, the breeze blowing, smelling the aroma of my grandmother's baked sweet potatoes, and falling asleep shallowly.
That big river is merciless. The most ruthless is the summer, when the water is turbulent, sometimes clear and sometimes turbid. It is also at this time that the great river will take several lives. At that time, the village did not have roads, and travel was by boat, so the village called itself "Little Taiwan". That summer, a big lady in the village, on the way back from farm work, her rowing boat was hit by another motorized boat, fell into the river, and the rapids engulfed her... There is also a girl on the other side of the river, the stepmother said coldly to her, will run to the school to call away the class she is going to work home, once after cutting the pig grass back, the hot day will follow the little friend down the river to swim, because of leg cramps, it will never come up again...
That big river is busy. The busiest is autumn, the autumn water is permeated with emeralds, gentle but slightly cool. It's summer vacation, and it's also farming. Boats on the river come and go, full of rice, corn and other crops, early in the morning to the night, the sound of boats, water, people, incessantly. When the children were in elementary school, they followed early to help. Most children's childhoods are full of laughter and sweat.
The big river was calm. The quietest is winter, the river is like the leaves on the mountain is like a precipitated dark green, early morning and evening are foggy. Elementary school is on the other side of the river, paddling small boats every day, crossing back and forth between ignorance and knowledge. Whether it is the scorching sun or the biting winter wind, whether it is a strong wind or a torrential rain, I have never missed school. We traveled through that river in the winter, wrapped in a thick fog. At that time, the cold fog of the big river became the fog in my eyes when nostalgia flooded.
The great river, which has always appeared in the scene of my dreams. Every time we return to our hometown, the river is like a clear green carpet, welcoming each of us wanderers.
When I grew up, happiness was always less pure.
That river, it seems, is the same.
Residents on both sides of the river threw their household garbage into the river, and colorful garbage bags floated on the water, as if it were a colorful wound.
All I could do was to incinerate the household garbage at home and stop hurting her who had once filled her happiness.
The last time I went home, I found that more and more residents chose to burn domestic garbage instead of throwing it into the river.
I think that in the future, the great river can still be as pure as before, forever retaining that clear purity, unpolished, fearless time.