Author: Wang Tianyi.
Editor in charge: Xie Wanfei.
WeChat editor: Wang Xinyuan.
The Mid-Autumn Festival, after all, is to look forward to, looking forward to a wanderer returning to his hometown, looking forward to a common cut of the west window, and looking forward to a reunion.
The West Continent is coming, and it is the Mid-Autumn Festival of the year, and the flowers on the crater are blooming desperately, drawing a full moon of flowers that the world is talking about. My uncle from Nanjing came to Ningbo to visit my grandparents, and after dinner, the figures were scattered and the stars were ringing, and I sat in the car home. Before leaving, my grandmother's figure standing on the door frame lingered, and the wind found a gap to squeeze in, and I blocked out of the car window. Roaring, low and unwilling, the noise made me a little dizzy.
Grandma always likes to look north like this, obviously they are all high-rise buildings rising from the ground, and the reinforced concrete wants to bury her rickety figure, but she always stands like that, leaning on the door frame, looking north silently.
The car drove north, the intersection was empty, and as far as the eye could see, there were three hot red lights, and two rows of street lights spread along Wangjing Road, like two rows of moons. After some delay, the wind behind us caught up, broke through the lingering branches, grabbed our tailpipe, and clinged to the glass little by little.
I raised my hand and leaned against the car window, the noise receded with the scenery outside the window, and the cold car window heated up little by little, I couldn't help but wonder, the gust of wind outside the window, did he also come to this southern coastal city to look for relatives?Is he a homecoming wanderer?Or is it a deceased soul?Did you come alone?From ** again?I don't know if you were invited, the wind that hurried to Ningbo on August 15, what is your name?It's not a typhoon code name in the mouth of meteorologists, I mean, did your parents give you your name?
An inexplicable whisper from the wind outside the window dissipated in the night sky. He didn't know his name, and he couldn't tell the relationship between Ningbo and the atmosphere, he may have eloped somewhere with heat and air pressure, and it was impossible for him to remember his return date and hometown every year like the monsoon.
The speed of the car has accelerated, and the lights of thousands of homes in Ningbo at night are lit up, and tens of thousands of residents in the small city have lived here for generations, continuing the incense;There are also new Ningbo people who have settled in the past ten years, and they are still staying here at the moment, maybe they have brought their parents to settle down, or maybe they haven't grabbed the hard seat of the high-speed rail, I don't know.
The dark clouds in the sky were holding on with difficulty, enclosing the stars in the chessboard, telling the Lingding above the nine heavens. You were born in the sky, why don't I call you Akong, it's just that the sky is so big, ** is your home.
Akong, where are you going?If you blow north, it must come from the south. If you are coming from the south, I would like to ask you if you have seen migratory birds migrating and leaving the place where they once lived, and whether there is a moment of homesickness?Is it because they remember the way back, or is every migration a move?
Akong, where are you going?Do you want to go all the way north to encounter the sea breeze in Bohai Bay or to see how the snow is late in the Mohe River?If you can't turn back, can you go beyond the speed of light, go back in time, can you go to Laiyang, Shandong Province in 1954, where you meet a little girl surnamed Jiang, who was 10 years old at the time. The sound of suona in China, which had just been liberated, was full of sounds, the erhu pulled up the ballad of driving cars, golden ears of wheat grew everywhere, and farmers in the fields of crops enjoyed the shade under the shade of trees. Grandma's father ran away from the country under the condemnation of the people, and the call of the grandmother in the dream made the man get up from the small bed on the edge of the moonlight and cautiously return to his hometown.
The moon is silent today, and it was also a spectator from decades ago. Akong, will you be the gust of wind that hid in the reeds decades ago?Did you hear the call of Grandma dissipating into the night sky?
Later, my grandmother's mother took my grandmother to remarry a farmer surnamed Gai and gave birth to a younger sister, and my grandmother also changed her surname. Baiyun Canggou, whose mother died of illness a few years later, and the farmer married another bride. My grandmother was taken back to her hometown by her grandmother, where the children had never gone to school and had never received any education, but she sent her 10-year-old grandmother to primary school. Now my grandmother has been brought to Ningbo by several children, and she has eaten frugally, eating three meals of gruel, and hoarding a cabinet of plastic bags in the supermarket, but it is too late for the relatives who raised her to spend her own money.
To the north, only that large, empty bungalow remained. If there are no relatives in my hometown, is it still my hometown?Akong, the times are moving forward, and people's lives have become better, but some people were lost a few decades ago, how can they get back?Biology doesn't tell us how guilt is inherited, the story of one generation planting the next generation in the yellow earth, can their offspring be cut off?
The Mid-Autumn Festival night moon leads the tides, who said that it is not tears from people.
The car drove past the bridge, and one after another street lamps fell on the paper in his hand, casting a glimpse of the picture. A two-and-a-half-hour drive from Nanjing to Ningbo, Laiyang can't even reach directly, more than 970 kilometers along the way, the average life expectancy of people is more than 70 years old, how much time do we need, and how much time do we have?Can we only stand silently like our grandmother, we can only look north and see through the wind and frost all the way.
Akong, don't be alarmed, do you know what you do?Life is like a reverse journey, will you go to Hunan with a roar, leaving a sad wind through the cave?Uncle will return tomorrow, will you go to Nanjing with him, pass through the Zhonghua Gate, and blow the sycamore and acacia beautifully.
The windows were so shaky that the streetlights turned into the moon;The moon was too shaking, shaking the acacia to the ground. The long streetlights pinned the car's shadow to the ground, sometimes flattening until it was breathless, sometimes stretching indefinitely. I snuck the light into my nose and choked. The wind occasionally turned into a cry for help, and then drowned in the night. Ah Kong, where is the synthesis of sorrow, have you reached the Jade Gate Pass?The night is flowing, the pond is in the east, do you go to the alley of Wanhua to take a look at the grapes?Did you know that we will make a turn at the next intersection and you will still be with us at that time?Or is the fate of you and me destined to only have this journey, just Akong, the vicissitudes of human philosophy recognition.
With a cloud of smoke and rain, where should I go?
Akong, if you can, please tell me, without the north, whether ** is all ahead;Without a hometown, there will be no nostalgia.
Review: Yang Yue.
Reviewer: Zhou Wei.
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