Text/Chen Panfu
After a long time away from the homeland, it is inevitable that a stack of heavy nostalgia will accumulate in your heart.
Nostalgia is like a tough and long silk thread, and it always accompanies me wherever I go. Mountains, separated continuously; water, shearing continuously; one end is tied to my hometown, the other is tied to my heart. After living in the city for a long time, the heart of missing the hometown has become more and more intense, how should this stack of nostalgia be pinned on?
Give that wisp of wind. But it's too promiscuous, can it be relied upon? Give it to the long clouds. But it's too thin and light to carry?
Oh, give that piece of the moonlight— the wet, crystalline moonlight that will turn over the mountains, cross the river, cross the dense forest, carry my thick thoughts, give me a fresh kiss, a warm greeting, give my river, give me a white forest, give me a pear garden, give me a yard, give every wildflower, give every little grass, give a little morning dew that flutters on the petals, give the red-headed dragonfly that perches on the grass leaves... Ah, give me the countryside that is the size of a pushpin on the original of my hand.
And now, it's the mid-autumn festival again.
The month, for the city, is too stingy. Even on this Mid-Autumn Festival night, the moonlight is lazy and tired, only slightly in the distant kingdom of heaven, the moon is faintly yellow, like the face of an anemic girl smiling; on the ground, in the air, there is a thin, smoke-like hazy light, as if the wind blows, it disappears, where is the hometown moon as clear as water, as bright as silver?
I miss the month of my hometown.
Leaving my wife and son behind, I walked alone to the countryside and sat on a rock on the hillside. At the foot is the smoke city of thousands of lights, looking up at the sky dome, only to see a feather-like cloud, caressing and caressing on Yue'er's face, and for a while there is a nylon scarf-like flowing cloud, netting Yue'er's cicada sideburns; and another moment when the clouds fade away, they see pearls like water, like white lotuses after bathing, Shi Shiran stands out, so the mountains are full of moon thoughts, the soul of the moon.
My mind is like a bird, riding on this ethereal moonlight, flying through the misty smoke and water, flying into the picturesque moonlight of my hometown...
What a fascinating painting in my childhood soul on the moonlit night of May in my hometown!
It was the latest and most beautiful moment, the sky was like a brush, there was no trace of cloud, and the blue was high and far away. Yue'er is like a charming girl who is late in coming, she sprinkles down the halo full of clear eyes, and the courtyard is a bright and dangling crystal, and the petals of the locust are filled with the juice of the full moon, the gelatin of the moon, and the air is filled with the fragrance of flowers and the fragrance of the moon. In the corners of the courtyard, in the cracks in the walls, the crickets, these horsemen of the harassing night sing like a burst...
At this time, I sat under the acacia tree in the courtyard, or lay in my mother's arms, looking at the stars, looking at the moon, and reading the blue book of heaven that I could never understand. Sometimes my mother also took my little hand and shook it around and sang:
Sift the grate and lie down
Grind the noodles, send the grandmother,
Grandma is not at home,
Hi yuzi laughed haha...
Actually I laughed, my mother laughed. Laughter fluttered in the melting moon. After shaking and singing, he told me the legend of many months, and I often lay on my mother's shoulder and asked why the moon lady did not come down, why did she stay in heaven? Ask Yue Niang what to eat, there are du pears, sour dates, and "sweet stalks"? Is that star her child? The clouds covered March's face, and she didn't show her face for a long time, was it that Yue Niang was sick? The little mind is filled with many childishness and doubts. A little older, my little friends and I liked to run, chase, and frolic in the moonlight. Or the yard or the river beach, or the woods, that was the first stage for our "little elves" to move. Tired of running, tired, sit down and sing. Our voices are tender and childish, like cicadas that have just shed their shells, grasshoppers that have just molted their skins. Our song is clear and clear, and the moon lady listens to it and gives us a wet kiss; the flowers listen to it, give us a piece of humorous incense; yun'er listens to it and gives us a piece of tender love.
As for the melon shed moon night, it is the most moving painting in the child's mind!
What an enchanting view! When the twilight is drooping, the moon has not yet risen, but the fireflies have drilled out of the night curtain, like stars floating down from the night sky, high and low, suddenly up and down silently fluttering, fluttering, flying around the melon shed, the melon garden. When the moon rises, the field is sprinkled with a layer of silver powder. The distant woods, the nearby Tian Mo and Sha Gang, present a clear, bright, ethereal and soft scenery.
How tempting the melon orchard of the production team was to us! Silver melons and watermelons with large pillows in the garden, vegetable melons with mallets and melons of all sizes, from the cracks of the turquoise leaves, reveal a plump and seductive smile, emitting a rich fragrance. The gentle night breeze, the fragrance of melons, and the smell of sunburned melon leaves, dew and night are all filled together, refreshing and intoxicating. In the moonlight, you can faintly see the round watermelon - the peel is covered with a layer of white powder, and the white powder is engraved with dark green patterns; and the croissant honey, which looks like a sheep's horn, with a thick tip and a thick waist, and the yellow skin, opens up, revealing a pink melon, a purple melon seed, a bite, a mouth full of honey; the green skin is crisp, the emerald green melon skin has a stripe of black stripes, opened, the milky white melon, like the tender milk, is cool, and it is so sweet. As for the "Flower Fox Tiger" and "Three Tendons", those are all good members of the melon family. There is also a kind of big noodle pier, which is particularly large, long, yellow, and eats noodles, like eating steamed buns, which can be used as rice.
They often go in groups to steal melons, performing comedies, farces and pranks in the moonlight. Looking at the melon is the "three old men"—a skinny old man, whom we all call the Third Master of the Turtle. When stealing melons, we first sent a "scout" to sneak into the melon shed and put a handful of dry tribulus in his shoe shell while he squinted and snoozed. Once he found out that he was stealing melons, he jumped out of the bed, and as soon as he put on his shoes, he was pricked with grins, chased us barefoot, and the tribulus on the trail made him scream and scold. In the midst of the scolding, we had already run away like puppies with a few melons or watermelons. So we hid in the river beach, lying on the grass, enjoying the "booty", full of food, burping, with a kind of satisfaction, a kind of happiness, a kind of sweetness, the "nest" went...
When I read the book "Hometown" straight, it was also in the moonlight, when I had graduated from high school, and during the summer vacation, I waited for the gospel of the college entrance examination to come.
On the evening of July, the night fell, the frog drums sounded, and the fireworks lit up. I cut a basket of cow grass, sat by the small river, washed my feet, washed my hands white. I looked at the river and saw that the river was shining, like the dawn of the dawn. Suddenly, the river began to have silver snakes swimming, and when I looked up, a golden bright moon appeared in front of me with trembling, golden and bright. I was stunned, and my eyes were obsessively looking at such a brilliant, charming bright moon. It is like a ripe persimmon, full of rich fragrance, full of juice, and soaked in misty water vapor. Its golden juice, the golden soft light pouring on the vast fields of the hometown, the eaves, treetops, stacks, and water marks near and far, all glowed with a faint golden light, and when a breeze blew through, the mist of the field flowed glitteringly—to the east, to the west, to the south, to the north, to whisper to this whisper, to kiss for a while, quietly, quietly, without making a sound. At this time, whoever wants to cough a thunderbolt to see, it will be frightened, quickly hide behind, or cover itself with grass. I looked at this magical moonlight with ecstasy, as if I had stepped into a dream of the moon. Everything was sparkling and buoyant, and I was enchanted by this golden dream.
With the footsteps of the night, the moon gradually faded away the rare gold and became incandescent, and at the same time, she rose slowly, almost without you feeling it. The moon was more feminine and charming than before, stained with invisible sweet wet night dew, and the pages were turned over in the wilderness—the willows on the embankment in the distance, the lilacs on the slope beside me, stretching out to me in unison, casting the shadows of branches and young grass on the embankment. Birds are calling on the branches, small insects are jumping in the grass trees, crops in the fields are growing jointly, there are thousands of lives in the fields that are rejoicing, and the flowers and calm grass are becoming more and more fragrant... At this time, you can enjoy the tranquility and tranquility of the summer night, the mellowness and richness of the summer night, the depth and hustle and bustle of the summer night...
But, my dreams receded and I woke up. I found that the Takaoka River Dam at the moonlight was like a hazy painting, and the unlit low depression was like a deep poem. So I read the ancestral book of my hometown page by page through the moonlight: the cow lying in the moonlight. Wood smoke dissolved into the moonlight. Dilapidated cottage. Old mill. Wheat straw stacks in the hair. A puddle of green mash. Wooden cracked handle. Winding paths. The heavy, gentle grooves on the path. And this lush crop, the dark earth, and the sweat of my ancestors that seeped into the depths of the earth and the overlapping footprints that had been eroded by the wind and rain... This is a book full of hieroglyphs, a huge chapter in the glorious history of our ancient people. At this time, I really understood the profound and rich connotation of the word "hometown" - reproduction, life, creation, development, difficulty, attachment, struggle, struggle... Isn't this the coordinates of life in the hometown?
A great and pure emotion suddenly sprouted in my young soul, as well as a vast sense of history and a heavy sense of mission... Ah, hometown!
The most nostalgic is the Mid-Autumn Festival.
Mid-Autumn Festival, that is the festival of the month.
On the plain, a full moon is held up, as charming as the birth of Venus, as charming as the sunrise of Mount Tai and the sunset of the Yellow River. One year when I returned to my hometown, I recorded in my diary the magnificent landscape of the Mid-Autumn Moonrise in my hometown:
...... The obscure, contemplative blue undertone sprinkled the first few drops of joyful protein water droplets, and gradually floated out. This hue turns into rose yellow again, like the brush of Danqing's hand slowly applying, gradually becoming grand and clear, making the rose yellow more and more concentrated. The golden yellow in the sky, sweeping everything along the way, the flame-like colors, began to spread, and like a symphony, first by a thin flute melodiously, from the distant depths, gradually the sound became clear and grand, high, and then the orchestra sounded in unison, the gongs and cymbals sounded ah... At this moment, I seemed to hear God being surrounded by a circle, so round, clear and solemn, and peaceful. I held my breath and froze, such a great and fascinating vision of the moonrise, which I had never seen before. The moon was off the ground, about a foot of light and shadow, and in a flash, all the stars seemed to be hidden, but this golden moon was pouring sweaty soft light on the world of this night, and the little distant trees in the remote village were fainter than the tender grass of the early spring...
At this time, the women and children of each family sat together around the floor tables placed in the courtyard and began a sumptuous dinner, enjoying the most sacred and charming annual pleasures. The floor tables of the family are full of melons, fruits, pears and peaches, and are filled with special sets of mooncakes, decorated as bright as a crescent moon. The mooncakes are of various kinds, including date paste fillings, sugar fillings, melon seeds and peanut sesame fillings, which are printed with the patterns of "Chang'e" and "Laurel Tree". At this time, the mother was not in a hurry to eat, looking at my son who had returned far away from the sweet, greedy way of eating the moon cake, and the wrinkles on his face turned into a beautiful smile. I chewed on the mooncakes, and also relived the "hometown" - the roar of the machines in the distance, the songs played by the TV, and the bursts of comfortable and cheerful laughter that broke out from time to time in the courtyard of whose yard, all flowed with the joy of harvest, the fiery red richness, sweetness, enthusiasm, boiling pursuit, so fresh, so moving, so reverie and longing, the sweetness of the mooncakes, the fragrance of melons and fruits, the drunken nostalgia, along with the mother's laughter, all ate into the stomach with the moonlight, and the sweet, Fragrant memories!
It was late at night, and the dew was heavy. Looking up, hanging high in the sky is the unique Mid-Autumn Moon in the mountains, she is round and serene, quietly radiating a soft light, like a mother's gentle gaze, gentle smile. The mountain wind gently swayed endlessly, carrying clear and beautiful waves of light, happily basking in the infinite silence. In this silence, the hometown seems to come to me step by step, with the memories of my childhood, the footprints of my youth, the familiar sound of the countryside; with the sound of the piano of the small river, the rhyme of bai Yanglin; with the sweet cooking smoke and the ripening of the crops...
Unforgettable hometown! Unforgettable loved ones! May my thick nostalgia be entrusted to the bright moon in the sky, may the moonlight hide my dream-like warmth, cloud-like confused feelings, and fly to the small village on the Narusi Plain!
(Image from the Internet)
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