That feeling came again. I immediately stopped on the side of the road, stood still, closed my eyes, and hoped that my mind would immediately understand what I was feeling.
Today is the coldest day since the beginning of winter in Shenzhen. It's really cold, and it's windy, cold. I buttoned my coat tightly and walked in the yard in the wind. After only a few steps, that feeling came to me.
I already know that this feeling occurs every time I shiver on a windy winter day, put my hands in my pockets, and move forward against the wind.
Not feeling pain or other discomfort. It feels like time and space are about to change, as if you are about to remember a picture, enter a scene, and emerge a story. But I just can't catch it, like the camera can't focus, and the picture is always blurry.
Is there such a delicate correlation between temperature and memory? Do the different temperatures you feel store different memories? However, the scorching heat did not make me feel like I wanted to go back to the past for a moment, only in winter, on a cold and windy winter day.
Here's the weirdness: Why winter?
I continued to walk in the yard. Passers-by in twos and threes wore thick clothes of different styles in winter. There is even a faint whistling in the distance. I heard that military coats are popular in the north this year, but the people here don't need them yet, and they haven't caught up yet, thank goodness. I don't want to see the military coat. But I also don't hate people in military coats. Everyone has their own winter.
Is there anything strange about my winter? Why do I suddenly feel like I have to think of something when I get the right low temperature and cold wind? What exactly do I have to think of? What's buried deep in the winter?
I began to reminisce about every winter in my life. Winter in the field of shaving sweet potatoes in the north of the village. Cotton wood with both hands scratched scars in winter. On the roof, in the cold wind, the winter of wiping and cutting and drying sweet potato chips overnight. When I went out to school before dawn and studied early, my ears and feet were frozen and painful. It is winter when you step on the snow and go to the field in the north of the village to enjoy the snow scene. Winter to write a person's name in the snow. On the first and fifth days of the Lunar New Year, the men of the family flocked to the door to pay their respects to the winter of the New Year. Drunk and standing alone on the bridge and spitting at the frozen river in winter. Riding my aunt's bicycle to the county education bureau to retrieve the Hengshui ** business transfer letter in winter. Get up at 6 a.m. every morning to listen to the English radio lectures of Tianjin People's Radio. Waiting for people late at night and waiting left and right waiting for the winter when no one is seen. I lived in the winter when I was struggling to learn "New Concept English" by myself at Hengshui Teacher's College. Winter on the first floor of the Renmin University campus in Beijing. Winter in looking for a hotel near Xidan in Beijing. On Christmas Eve, six or seven classmates rode their bicycles to the square and were persuaded to leave by the police. Winter in front of the Liulichang Neptune Village bookstore. Winter at the Sanlitun Bar. Winter in the snow country. The winter of my father's death. On the way home, I was looking for an old colleague to stay in the winter. Winter waiting for the train in the waiting hall of the old station. Winter at Tongjiao Temple. I miss the winter ...... when "there is a moon after the snow in early winter".Finally, there is the winter when "that feeling" keeps coming back.
No one knows which winter it was, settling at the bottom of the years. The cold wind was about to move, and it seemed to be under a spell, unable to raise its head or show its face.
There must have been a winter that I ignored, "broken", lost. There must have been a winter when I refused the opportunity to be awakened, and on the way to the reincarnation of the four seasons, I mutilated myself. This winter, I want to stop talking, and I want to talk about it.
There is only one question: which winter?
Hu Hongxia text.