After many years, I returned to my hometown where I was born and raised.
The evening air was a little quiet, and there was some slack in the idleness, without the freshness of the morning, or the vigour of the afternoon, and all the animals were still.
After a day's work, people's bodies also become loose, as if the various organs of the body have no spirit, each looking for the most suitable state. So did I. After dinner early and doing nothing, I went out for a walk and looked around to see what had happened to my birthplace. See who renovated the house, whose house or the original appearance, always want to grab some impressions in the past, even if it is a tree, or a fence, can find a tong qu, one or happy or sad memories.
It is really strange that some things in the early years did not feel so good at that time. However, as I grew older, I became more and more nostalgic and missed the past. I don't know if it is to relive the lost affection, or not to give up the fun of childhood, the more materialistic, the more I miss the people and things I grew up with. In fact, the village is no longer noisy as a child, and the population is much smaller. At that time, the family had several children, more than five or six, less than two or three, now it's different, one family, two families but not many. Some of the houses have been empty and no one lives in them. I have heard that some of them have gone to work outside, and some of them have gone to town or county schools with them.
I walked like this, looking at, also did not feel the heart is what flavor, just feel some inexplicable loneliness and melancholy. The village was strange to me, and I was strange to it. As the tang dynasty (he zhizhang) ancient poem wrote, "the young leave home the eldest brother return, the rural sound does not change the hair hair temples decline, children meet do not know each other, smile ask the visitor from where."
Occasionally a few villagers passed by, but they did not know who I was, and I did not know whose children they were. After a moment, I always want to try to identify who they look like, and they just gone with the wind once in the past is in the eyes, perhaps they will think I am very abrupt, but they know that my heart filled with stories and memories.
Now, I am the witness of the story, and you are not the protagonist of the story? A period, a story. A story, but not the same plot and protagonist. Time moves according to its rules, and people live their own way. It's been a long time before I realize it. I think it's time to go back. There is always an endless road to go and a story to tell. Just before I turned back, suddenly heard someone shout "the old man went home, this is no time you also naughty" outside saw only a 12 year old children ran out of my sight, bouncing back home. But my heart started getting jumped up, like a child steps in my heart, the scene and the mother calls me the same, the same experience, the same birth.
Son, you are lucky, you are happy, and your mother called you home late, but I will never hear it again. Since my mother's death, no one has ever called me by the name of my baby again. The sound is so old that I almost forget myself. But when the mother's voice calling her children home again awakened me sleep that long lost dream for many years, in thought mother called me again (old man), more want to experience a mother upon her sad feelings.
Strange villages, strange people, but will never be unfamiliar with the mother's call to return to the children late!
Dear ones, never fade away!
Village, my forever emotion depends on!
Hometown, you live in my heart forever!