For us older people, childhood is like a small stream, clear and transparent, flowing in the valley of our hearts.
The most vivid memories are the summer evenings, when the adults have returned from their labors and the children have come back from mowing the grass outside. My mother was cooking in the house, and we were chilling out in the courtyard. In summer, there are many mosquitoes, so every household puts a fire in the courtyard and smokes the mosquitoes. Green smoke spread out and filled the courtyard, mixed with the smell of grass.
Children are playing around the fire. At this time, the whole courtyard is a happy world, a world that belongs to children. At this moment, everything we had to worry about during the day has been left behind, and we have neither thought nor done anything, so to speak, we are free.
The donkeys and sheep who came back from the mountains were also leisurely in the yard, standing or lying, very casually. With the children, and these smoke make up a peaceful summer courtyard picture.
At night, the children still gathered around the fire and refused to disperse. The children's faces were red in the light of the fire, and on moonlit nights, the children watched as the moon gradually rose from the treetops in the east, and a bright spot appeared in the courtyard. The children are bathed in the moonlight, and it seems that their hearts are also bright. There was a hint of coolness in the air, and every one of our cells seemed to be soaked without the moonlight, and the whole body felt extraordinarily bright.
In winter, the weather is cold, and people rarely go to the yard. The crow of the crow came from the high poplar trees outside the village, which was a little desolate, a little desolate, and a little chilly, through the cold night sky, and spread over the village, making people feel the emptiness and desertion of the village even more.
In the early winter morning, through the window, I saw several small birds flying into the yard to peck at food, they turned their little heads flexibly, and flew to the eaves from time to time, chirping.
The pink-white apricot blossoms that bloom all over the branches in spring are densely packed with branches. When the wind blows, the apricot blossoms fall, sprinkle and spread on the ground, which is like a pink carpet.
Many people and many things have not left a mark, but these momentary scenes that inadvertently caught my attention are so warm that they are now fixed in the depths of my memory and have become the background color of my life.
Childhood is the root of a person, and our life is rooted in the land in which we lived in childhood. When I was a child, I always wanted to get rid of the shackles of my hometown and always wanted to fly away. But now, no matter how prosperous the city is, how beautiful the scenery is, it is difficult to fill the emptiness in my heart.