Childhood stories
(Prose)
Author: Dream Chasing
Time flies, life is like a dream, unconsciously we have stepped into the sixtieth century, I really dare not gaze: the forehead is shiny, the temples are pale, the teeth are falling out, and the complexion is yellow. There is an elderly father, a loving mother in the twilight, trembling hands, stumbling hardships, sighing sighs; Some go west, but they can only talk in front of the grave and meet in their dreams. There are children who have started a family, and their grandchildren and nephews are surrounded by knees and embraced in their arms.
Looking back on so many years, some of them have been vigorous, successful in their careers, and wonderful all the way. And some of them were defeated, and they secretly left their hometowns for the sake of survival, cutting off their relatives and love.
For a mediocre man who does not smoke or drink and has no quarrel with the world, he can only guard a long-faded square table, with stacks of so-called books that are not in time. And the relics of those ancestors, the dusty four treasures of the study. Only the bright moon is in the sky, the night is quiet, the corners of the mouth take a sip of tea, spread out the snow-white letterhead, and spend the rest of his life horizontally like a ghost.
Occasionally go out, meet the old man in the village under the thick shade, and talk about the past and the present. Criticize the heat and coldness of the world, the warmth and coldness of the world, and discuss the international situation. Witnessing childhood friends: willows, love, apricots, spring peaches...
The weight of life has bent the toned body, the wind and sand of the years have blown away the delicate face of the past, and the cheeks have appeared with many spots year by year.
Passing through the thatched huts of the past, the ruins of the broken walls, the spiders forming webs, the rats piled up into mounds, but there have been chirping in the old nest, there have been the laughter of the old and the young, and the bald poplar in front of the door records a moving ballad......
After the Qingming Festival, the ice and snow have melted, the yang energy has risen, in the green willow jungle, the grass slope, running with a red face, the sore legs of the whip, to chase the eagle from the south, and the migrating bird from the north.
Climb the tall trees to pick elm money, go to the village well house, break the house and pound the birds' eggs, lie down in the grass canopy at dusk and dusk, and mend clothes with wire strings. Roll up your pants and use the iron fence to catch black tadpoles, shrimp, fish, and frogs running happily by the muddy pond covered with moss. Throwing the carefully selected stones into the water caused waves of tenderness, waking up the sleeping lake and floating childhood dreams in the distance......
The breeze passed, and the wheat waves rolled. The wheat field of the past seems to be back in sight: the rooster is playing, the Milky Way is retreating, the morning light is slightly white, the father gets up early, prepares farm tools and urges his baby, and goes to Xiliang to cut the golden eyes and endless summer wheat. It's dog days, the sun is as hot as a furnace, there is not a trace of wind waving the sickle to cut the wheat, and the sweat is like a drop! He bowed his head and bent over, unable to stand upright, but thunder rolled in the northwest. The ancients said: Plant on ice, collect on fire, and grab food from the mouth of the dragon king. The thick clouds are like thousands of horses, pressing forward step by step, swooping down from west to east...
"Put down the sickle and go back to the wheat," the father with a filthy face and drenched clothes called anxiously to his children behind him.
A spike of ears, a grain, weathered, stained with the sweat of farmers and the hard work of day and night, just like a life-saving stalk carrying the future and destiny of the descendants of Yan and Huang, thousands of households!
Gritting his teeth, pinching the index, cutting, tying, backing, pulling, grinding, and cooling finally returned to Zhao.
At that time, we also returned from school and went to the East Bay of the Yellow River. Outside the ancient Yellow Causeway, there are a few plants such as Ha Moer and Artemisia sinensis isolated in the white and snow-like saline-alkali land, which is almost barren, and only some open space in the national embankment, which cannot withstand the long-term soaking of rain, corn, millet and the like rot and die in the quagmire. Recently, barnyard grass, reeds, safflower, alkali grass, tiger tail grass grows... Provide natural food for livestock.
We are in the desert area, raising donkeys, although the strength is small and save grass and material is called the donkey brigade. On the other side are tall mules and horses, bordering the banks of the river with hard soil. The north and the south do not give in to each other, let alone get closer. Since childhood, he suffered from poliomyelism and spleen, although his legs and feet were not good and his mouth was hard, he took the initiative to pick thorns, and at the instigation of the public, he fought with Yan Huwang, and was beaten back by the tiger and fell into the mud pit, becoming a water chicken, which made the herder laugh.
At that time, Mr. Dong dragged a yellow-brown mule in his hand and watched from the side. Two curved thick eyebrows, a wide and round face, ink-like hair, simple and neat clothes, burly figure, attracting bees and butterflies, can be described as handsome!
The sun slipped past the crooked willow, the donkey owner roared, we each saddled our horses, and the whip sounded, like a Japanese entering the city, and a burst of dust flew up......
In the era of material scarcity and difficult to solve the problem of food and clothing, melons and fruits have become a childhood luxury. In the five miles of neighboring villages, where and where are the homes, it is clear at a glance that those like us are gluttonous.
. There is Wang's house on the desert on the west slope, the old mother planted a ridge of cantaloupe, I have been planning with Feimeng for a long time, not waiting for the melon to ripen, salivating, desperately swallowing the stomach, but the abdomen is chaotic, holding the stomach and crying dad and calling the mother, only to know that the drug attacked, a little whine!
One evening, my cousin and I sneaked to a remote Dongzhuang, looking at the detached house from a distance, and the window was tightly covered. My cousin cleverly picked up a small stone and carefully threw it into the courtyard, and in a moment, I also learned to meow, and there was no movement outside the court. They looked at each other and entered over the wall. "Those who press the lone red, those who sit on the pile, and those who eat three and four..." Occasionally, there is a cry for selling fried oil cakes and freshly stewed lamb offal......
I shuddered and took out the remaining cannons from my trouser pocket, looked around, and reached into the cat hole outside the windowsill, and the third brother quickly lit it, and the two of them quickly evacuated. With a loud bang, the house was terrified, some broke out of the door, some jumped out of the window, and some were there, at a loss, like a hornet that had stabbed its nest, fleeing in all directions......
The two of them hid on the hillside behind the house, listening to our carefully planned pranks.
"Whoop ......" faintly heard the intermittent fox roar from afar, accompanied by the inexplicable sound of "coo..." in the forest. The strong wind wrinkled the red curtains, a full moon rose from the far east and swept over the tops of the trees like a silver ribbon, and the white buildings caressed the earth, with the nostalgia of the world, thoughts, and the smile of the mother, slowly retreated to the side of the Loess Ridge......
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