Prose poem 丨 Written to my hometown (chapter 4)

Dark fragrance floats. Photo by Wang Hui

Village landscape

It is still that path, stretching in the rice fields in his hometown, as if the verses on the father's draft, long and short. I listened to the sound of the frogs that started, and the harsh cicada, and dressed the whole hot summer into a poetic soul that returned to true. The clear water flowing water was rippled by the fish from time to time, making the village's smile sweet.

This is a kind of memory that is familiar with my heart. I accompany me from my childhood to the distance, from afar to dreams, blurred and euphemistic, moving and crying.

This is a kind of dream of dreaming, gently passing through every dawn and dusk, gently passing through every spring, summer and autumn and winter.

This is clearly a rhythmic landscape painting. Each stroke is so beautiful, and each stroke is so simple and romantic.

This is clearly a ballad of anger, each melody is so melodious, and each string of notes are so frustrated.

Standing in the path of his hometown, feeling the scenery of wind and the sun. Who was stomped with a tip and a light blue dream, making the days when he walked all the way to become a longing for flying. It is a strong nostalgia, drunk and long -lost ballad. It is an older father who outlines my look at the distance.

Soil's concern

Who is dormant in the center of the season, giving the setting of the setting sun a deep desire.

Walking along the parents' dongs, the applause of the face flickered, as if the shout on the Tian Roma was the dream of chasing me in a foreign country.

Some people say that dreams are colored, and the color is their own wings, and every time they open it, they will be colorful.

Some people say that home is a dream harbor. Every time I anchor, there is a concern for the homeland. Every time, there is an attachment to the wind.

The promise of the past was gradually drifting on the flowing strings. What I couldn't hold on was the cold eyes of my father, and what was unforgettable was the helpless tears of the mother.

Listening to the words from the old house, penetrating the night's meridian, crossing the quiet and familiar alley, let me feel the true meaning of my home.

No one told me that in the upper reaches of the morning light, there was a kind of emotional germination and was swallowed by the distant soybean oil lamps. There was a silent thought to belong to the dream of growing dreams.

Many times just stare at you silently, like the raindrops that are ticking under the eaves, and seem to be telling a story about a long time ago.

The teenager to the distance

The filtering of the past is always the emotion that keeps in the bottom of the heart, and layers are like a yellow diary on the desk. In this sultry summer, everything is natural, unexpected and unexpected.

The hidden door, no one rang for a long time, as if a crop in the sight, always full of enthusiasm, no matter how much wind and rain, always running hope. I think of the poems read by the sun, and have been unable to remember in the sorrow. The wrinkles of the years have long been covered with cheeks. Who can remember the teenager who is hungry towards the distance?

In fact, I really want to accompany you slowly like this. I really want to surround you every day. However, from your turbid eyes, I read the distance and poetry.

When the kite that sailed from the distance rose to the sky again, I found that every road I walked was the continuation of your life. Even if you are not facing all flowers and applause, I still want to thank you deeply, and thank you for using a kind of resoluteness to smooth the pain during my life. Whether it is in my hometown or in the distance, you are a poem in my heart that never wither.

The dream of stranding in the village

The whispering in the homeland hazy my footsteps and tears. In the wind, when I heard the long -lost nickname, the dust and exhaustion all the way disappeared on the familiar homeland.

The silent affection made me unable to avoid. I saw the gaze gathers, surrounded all the original ideas. I timidly said the rural voice that I haven't talked for a long time.

The hometown was instantly lively, so I was so excited that I couldn't read it with one page, and all the pain could not heal. I'm afraid of my Tang Tu, the wind of disturbing memory, disturbing my parents' watches, and disturbing my brothers and sisters to strand the dreams of the village. Only the soul is still rhythmic in the heart, and the hands raised high are clearly slow in the wind.

In fact, I know that this atmosphere does not have to cover up anything, everything is silent. Because I know that it is destined to use the inspiration of a lifetime, and it is destined to use the prayer of a lifetime to bless. As long as there is a dream, no matter how far away, it will not be far away. As long as there is affection, no matter how far away, you can measure it with your heart.

I know that I can't refuse this gift from life, just like this early autumn, I can't refuse the hot sun, and I can't refuse the cicada of the treetops. (Li Huiyan/Wen)

Source: Shijiazhuang Daily Client

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