I like

 　　This summer, the rains have come unusually frequently.

　　Strolling at dusk, gazing at the distant mountains washed clean and blue, the smiling Qingshui River, watching the streetlights light up one by one, and seeing a few skateboarding teenagers darting like swifts in the square, a faint smile appears on my lips. A feeling of joy quietly grows in my heart, like tiny white mushrooms on a prairie after the rain—

　　I love the city's four seasons, their rhythms distinct and crisp. The leaves turn green overnight, crickets begin their afternoon chorus, the wind carries a slight chill from the moment autumn begins, and another morning arrives, the windowpanes adorned with delicate frost patterns. But my favorite season is still summer. Even though the midday sun is like molten steel, the nights are always as cool as silk. The streets are more bustling at night than during the day. People emerge from their concrete and steel cubicles; there are mountains of melon stalls, the aroma of barbecue, girls in sundresses, and old men humming songs on the street… the vibrant tapestry of human life unfolds.

　　I love the surrounding mountain ranges, like a strong and welcoming embrace. Climbing along the undulating hills, looking back at the city behind me, I feel an indescribable sense of peace and security. I also know some beautiful places in the mountains. From a valley east of Qilishan Canal, there's a valley filled with forsythia. That spring day, in a misty rain, I was suddenly struck by its beauty—golden flowers carpeting the mountains, their pure fragrance flowing lightly. My companions and I fell silent, as if we had stepped into a dream. In Kouli Dongyaozi, there's a long, dark, and damp cave. You need a flashlight and warm clothes to pass through. Outside the cave is a small village with a spring, white geese strolling leisurely, and a gust of wind that sends pale pink apricot petals falling onto your hair. I call that place "Apricot Blossom Paradise"... Writing down these beautiful places, I also hesitate slightly. I can't bear to keep such beauty to myself, but I also worry that too many people going there would spoil the scenery.

　　I love the unique cuisine of this city—mutton, mushrooms, oat noodles, and yams—I never tire of any of them. I think no other staple food on the table is as versatile and prominent as oat noodles, and if you travel far away, it's destined to become something you crave. Farmhouses on the dam are great places to eat mutton. Around the beginning of autumn, I often call friends from other places: "When are you coming over? The sheep are fattening up!" Before I finish speaking, everyone on both sides laughs, as if I'm inviting not a friend, but a drooling wolf. The Bagang Road west of the bridge is brightly lit at night, with seafood restaurants specializing in abalone and shark fin, but even more so, restaurants serving lamb spine hotpot and oat noodles. A few close friends, a few mugs of draft beer—casual, relaxed, and simple—the food of a city reflects its personality.

　　I love the bustling crowds in this city; among them are my dearest loved ones. They live earnestly, contentedly, and honestly, and I wish them well for tomorrow. I love the winding alleys and charming buildings of this city, which are especially captivating in the writings of author Hu Xuewen. I wish this city a bright future…

　　I too have had my youthful, impetuous days, my heart a chaotic mess like overgrown weeds. But now, the river of time flows gently, and soft petals bloom among those scattered blades of grass. These simple, small affections warm and entwine me. Let me grow old like this, surrounded by those by my side, watching the city outside my window. And only now do I gradually understand: the person I can't live without more in my old age is my lover, and the place I love more and more in my old age is my hometown.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A foreign land, a different kind of charm.

 　　In a foreign land, I'm used to measuring the local customs with my eyes and understanding the folkways with my heart. No matter where I am, every brick, every tile, every person, and every event evokes endless emotions in me. 　　Yao'an has two distinctive features that I rarely saw before. In the north, where rainfall is scarce, single-story houses are the norm, but in Yao'an, pointed-roof tile houses are everywhere, surrounded by high walls forming deep courtyards with vermilion gates. Perhaps the branches in the courtyards couldn't resist climbing over the walls. Such architecture, in the north where family values ​​are strong, is both solemn and vibrant. I grew up in a mountain village, where I mostly saw stone houses nestled at the foot or halfway up the mountain. I rarely saw this kind of architecture, and my mind was full of questions: Why are the walls so high? Why are the gates red? Why are the roofs pointed? 　　Walking along the paths of this foreign land, wat...
Read more

The Moonlight in My Heart

 　　The moonlight shines into human life, inspiring enduring acts of moon worship and sacrifice! "When I was young, I didn't know the moon, calling it a white jade plate." Lying in my mother's arms, gazing at the bright, round moon, I asked what the shadows in the moon were, and the answer was: "Grandma Moon is spinning thread." Thus, the moonlight in Dihua Miaogou felt especially familiar, because my mother's methods of spinning thread and weaving clothes were similar to those of "Grandma Moon." 　　On the Mid-Autumn Festival, a long table was placed in front of the door, laden with homegrown walnuts, chestnuts, apples, grapes, and the flatbreads my mother had baked. First, incense was burned, and we kowtowed to the moon, then sat around the long table to enjoy the fruit and flatbread dinner. Back then, there was no electricity in the mountains; with the soft moonlight, there was no need for kerosene lamps, and my parents and siblings were moved ...
Read more

The fragrance of paper

 　　I remember when I was little, every year before the Spring Festival, my family would go to the store to buy newspapers to wallpaper the walls. I was always overjoyed. I would carefully select each sheet, keeping the interesting and favorite parts separately, and saving the rest for wallpapering. Even so, when applying the paste, I would try to leave the favorite parts exposed, which often slowed down the work, and the colors of the more colorful pictures were often darker, inevitably earning me a scolding from my parents! 　　When I had some free time, I would flip through the saved newspapers, a faint fragrance wafting from them. Reading them brought me immense peace and joy. In those days, this was enough for me. I often stood by the wall, browsing the newspapers, or was drawn to the newspapers hanging on the ceiling, gazing up at them for a long time until my neck ached. 　　When I was in junior high, "New Year's cards" were very popular for a while, with all sorts of e...
Read more