When she saw the stone, she shivered. As others saw it, it was a stone that looked like a baby. It was lying on its back, with both hands on its head and sleeping soundly. When you get closer, the stone becomes a small hill. If you walk to the stone, you need to look up to see the top of the stone. Several friends made an appointment to climb to the top of the stone to see what was going on.
"No, no," she said behind, "It will hurt him."
"Haha, this is just a stone." The friends climbed upwards as they stepped on the potholes on the stone, and she felt something pierced her heart.
Friends, you can vaguely see the shape of facial features on the top, and your eyes seem to be closed. She also wanted to see the baby's expression and his eyes. My friends took some photos with their phones. She looked at them and the little face became more and more moving, and the eyes seemed to be open at any time.
The trip ended, and everyone made an appointment to get on the bus. She searched the location of the stone with her mobile phone map and wrote it down.
"What, do you want to see again?"
"Well, I want to build a small house nearby."
The friends didn't laugh, pretended not to hear it, and talked about the weather and interesting news about life. Everyone knows that when she was young, she fell in love with a man and became pregnant. Later, the man disappeared and the child was not born.
The friends were not surprised to learn that she had cleared all links and built a small wooden house under the hillside. When they came to visit, they looked around in surprise and praised, "The scenery is beautiful and the air is fresh. You really know how to find a place to rest."
Next time when they came back, their friends saw that there were small vegetable fields around the wooden house, fresh fruits and vegetables were planted, and a fence was built near the big stones. She entertained her friends to eat vegetables she grew and eggs she raised from chickens she raised. She also raised an ewe in the yard, covered her sheep pen, and sprinkled her grass, saying that she could produce milk. A friend looked up and looked at her. He remembered that she had always hated the fishy smell of mutton. When his friends invited her to dinner, they didn't order this dish.
After a while, a row of nests appeared on a rock near the big stone, which could barely accommodate a foot. Along this nest, you could climb up the rock. She showed her friends the photos she took.
"Look, his expression is different every day." She pursed her lips as she said. The sunlight outside the window was just pouring on her face, shining brightly, as if it was a layer of gold.
Friends praised her superb photography skills and imagined her climbing up to take photos along this stairs.
"The weather is about to get hot, go back and live." Someone said.
"It would be great if the various trees have shade," she said.
Next time, friends will see a bunch of leaves planted on the hillside next to the big stone, with a thick finger and a clump of leaves as big as a palm. The flowers planted have already bloomed, and red pink hangs on the stone steps.
They estimated that she would not leave when summer comes, and a pergola made of branches would appear on the stone. In winter, it might be covered with straw quilts.
Two or three miles down the wooden house is a village with old houses and old streets, not big, and the homes are scattered. A friend went to the village to visit the source of this big stone. I asked a few, but I couldn't tell me, so I came. Later, I walked into an old house.
In the house is an old man with all white hair but still black eyebrows. He told everyone that one year the village had a disaster, and the children all had infectious diseases and were sent to the hospital for medicine for half a year. Someone wanted to practice a statue of gods, so he found a group of craftsmen from other places to dig trees and dig mountains. Before he could get rid of his eyes, the children's illness was cured and he let it go.
His wife kept silent while listening to him and pouring water for the visitors. When she was sending the guest out of the hospital, when the old man turned back to the house, she walked up a few steps and whispered, "Don't listen to him. It was not a repaired one, it fell from the sky, it was not a stone, it was a child, a fat boy, sometimes at night, you can hear him crying." When she asked again, she looked elsewhere and looked dazed.
Female friends are coming less and less. No one came all winter. Sometimes when she mentioned her, some people said that it was so cold that she moved back to the community and it was very convenient to take a bus.
In the spring of the following year, some people think of big stones again. To be precise, when it comes to the outing season, they remember the flowers and plants on the hillside. My friends made an appointment and drove the car, and the wind blew. From a distance, someone shouted, "Look! Flowers." Everyone looked at the shadow of the flower, and was so colorful that it was luxuriously gorgeous against the background of tender green and goose yellow just emerging around. It's that big stone.
"What fertilizer do you have to use to make the flowers so beautiful."
"Goat Milk."
She hasn't left.
They looked from afar as the light blue smoke came out of the wooden roof.
There may be a chubby toddler running in the room, naked, holding a bottle, babbling.
Her stone baby.
