Open the window, and the faint fragrance of osmanthus flowers floated towards you. It was late autumn, and the osmanthus flowers were thick. The sky was getting colder. Mid-Autumn Festival was here, and I missed it again.
Mid-Autumn Festival is the innocence and innocence of adults. People seem to have this characteristic in their lives. What they hear from childhood is difficult to erase in memory. The years of time are spinning around, but it is like a close friend of the soul, walking along the way, telling the old past events that exudes the fragrance of time, like shadows that accompany it for a lifetime.
Recently, in my mind and in my dreams, a picture from many years ago often flashed: it was a summer morning after the wind, rain and thunder. There was a rich forest in front of the village. I remember there were still elms at that time, most of which were locust trees as thick as bowls. The dry and soft branches were broken by the strong wind all night, lying on the ground in the forest. After the rain, the cicadas were stunned, with the squeaking cicadas, which contrasted with the fallen leaves all over the ground. With the cheerful steps of the children, it added the freshness, coolness and fun after the summer rain. Children wearing various clothes, wearing rubber shoes and bare sandals, picking up branches in the scattered rain, sometimes flying for a cicada with broken wings, sometimes ecstatic toward the fork nests that were poured out of the cave by the rain... The woods after the wind and rain are fresh, a cool, a cooling parachute that brushes away the heat of summer, and a happy garden for children to pick up firewood and catch insects! After such a beautiful rain, I dare not recall it for many years. The rain of time and the rain of time have washed away the happy years and years that we never return, just like the images engraved in our minds, which are never gone. Time has passed by, childhood is gone forever, the enthusiasm and fun of youth are burned out in the long years, the wind blows, the ground is covered with dust, memories are like the sea, and thousands of arriving. I am older and have less fun. I want to have someone looking for cicadas together after the rain. However, the world is so big, and pedestrians are in a hurry, but they are lonely.
Mid-Autumn Festival is the fallen leaves in the thoughts of adults. The Mid-Autumn Festival in my memory is that the big moon moan hangs brightly in the night sky full of stars. There are occasional autumn insects chirping at night in the quiet surroundings. In the kitchen, under the oil lamp, the white-haired grandmother with a small low-haired bun stood in front of the stove and bent down skillfully into the large iron pot. Under the stove, the grandfather who loves to drink and cough, his face was red by the raging stove fire, and he kept filling the stove with dry firewood, and was quietly waiting for the remaining fire to cook and serve. Old porcelain pot full of white wine; fat big raccoon cats were running around under the lights in the house, meowing constantly... In the yard, under the simple shed built by my father with large pieces of oil paper for "a little bit of hairy rain, I will never be happy for a long night", my parents peeled piles of corn, which was golden, blooming cotton, and snowy white. We siblings were like weaving shuttles, playing and joking through our happy and carefree childhood... The tents were so bright, the unders were so warm, and the outside of the shed was laughing, and the inside of the shed was happy Qia Qia. After dinner, my grandfather, like a treasure, slowly took out the few big, round moon cakes that were as big as vegetable plates from the market during the day, cut a few edges into the knife, and placed them in a bamboo basket filled with pomegranates, persimmons and peanuts picked from home. On this beautiful Mid-Autumn night and in this four seasons where moonlight is as bright as satin, the flowers and laughter of our three generations are sitting together; the immortal years and months of sitting on the ground, joyful and harmonious. The passing time unknowingly took away my kind, kind and kind grandfather and grandmother, and also took away an important part of our happiness and happiness. My grandfather died of lung disease in his hometown in 1997; my grandmother died of death nine years later and was sleeping in his hometown in his old house. Mid-Autumn Festival is the sad parents in adults’ longing.Shortly after my grandmother passed away, my mother's health was worse than before. With tears in her eyes, she often stared at her mother on the hospital bed. Her tall figure was weak and curled up. The years turned white and her shiny black hair. The vicissitudes of time, the hardships and illnesses of her children carved deep wrinkles all over her once full face.······· Yes, the mother under the drip was old and weak, so old that she could no longer work like the wind, and so weak that she could no longer walk from the couch. This beautiful mother, who was called "Yumei", finally gradually came to an end on her strong and progressive journey. My childhood mother was tall and light, walking like the wind. In that not wealthy year, she had many children and many daughters, and suffered from the hardships of life and the hardships of childbirth. I often remember that my siblings were entangled with my mother who had been working for a day, lying on her body and pillowing her arms, listening to her endless stories to fall asleep. Once upon a time, I watched my mother singing the spinning wheel to the young us under the dim oil lamp... In that era when movies were played in the big square, she had hardly seen a movie due to the tows of the children. She loved Henan opera, and on a morning of the Spring Festival stage, she painted my sister and I, with beautiful plastic flowers on her braids, and used a car to pull her younger brother who was still in her infancy to watch the show. She saw the black-faced Bao Gong on the stage, Qingyi Xianglian, the white-faced Cao Cao, and the red-faced Guan Gong...My mother is proficient in opera. She can tell the show every time she appears in the scene. What the students want to sing and what they play. Under the bustling theater, there will always be the laughter of our kind mother and young son Cuiling. My mother is brave and not afraid of the world. When the show is over, she will place my older sister and I, and hold a walking twin brother in one hand to the front desk of the opera troupe. I will tell you the makeup master and paint the faces of my brothers. When I get back, they will look at me, I will look at you, and I will not know each other. My sister and I also look at my brother Heiheihonghong and smile foolishly. After several years, I realized that my younger brothers were the heroes of the Three Kingdoms: Ma Chao and Ma Dai , such a smart mother! We entered school one by one. We often remember that in the thunderstorm, my mother in the rain and fog took an umbrella and wore a cloak, stood at the classroom door and looked into the house. Who among us won the prize? My mother took the prize, looked at it again and again, and was overjoyed, and then posted it on the wall. I was the first student in a key junior high school to walk out of us. That year, my mother walked to several miles of town, carefully selected the bedding, tea jars, bowls and chopsticks for me, and sent me into the middle school gate that everyone in the village envied. After I left, my younger brothers and sisters were still under the careful care of my mother, day after day, year after year, studying and growing up. Now I often think of how a rural family raised their children in such a poor era? How to provide students with study? That was my mother's countless hard work and sweat! Several years later, not long after I started working, my twin brothers entered the university as they wished. After several years of study, my mother still worked day and night. It was so difficult for a rural family to support two college students at the same time! In such poor and painful years, my mother never complained about hardships and fatigue in front of her children. She cultivated the land that supported us siblings and four of us, and managed the small nest of our family that carried our poor and warmth. As scheduled, the fortunes of our children are getting better and better. We no longer can draw anything from our mother's hard work throughout our life. On the contrary, we can respect her to varying degrees. However, my poor mother was unwilling to drag her children due to heart discomfort and was unwilling to drag her children. She had accumulated troubles for a long time and fell down completely and couldn't get up... My mother died in Zhengzhou in 2018 at the age of 66.The original intention was to use a large text to record the growth of our four siblings and the old things that happened to us in life with our mothers. Now, my dear mother has passed away, with sorrow, sorrow, tears, and sorrow, sorrow, sorrow, so much love is speechless! Miss my mother! The torrent of time is reincarnated with the Mid-Autumn Festival in the world year after year. The moon is round again, but with the increase of the years, longing is stacked into a pancake, and the sealed box filled with memories treasures my sad parents, and the curling smoke under the setting sun in my hometown. The autumn moon, like water, gradually bypassed the willow treetops in my memory, and the frogs in the pond outside the village were singing yesterday that they could not go back. It was Mid-Autumn Festival, with this deep thought and a wish for a better tomorrow, I wrote:
like a plate
like a sitting lamp
illuminating my hometown
Murata
htmlJanuary to full
like a high silver plate
is filled with a full memory
January is always bright
bright and beautiful tomorrow
and the immortal thoughts of my mother.
