Hometown, just like the palm of a mother

Back to a trip home, for a short stay.

To the mother's old house, pushed away that a Zamenhof, mother oh a sound, showing unexpected joy, eye rim tide tide red up. Near the mother, think mother is very small, still is coarse cloth underwear, and that road Zamenhof is a hue. How many years, the hometown is still the kind of pressing simple, but my heart is very warm, I feel, I almost came to this rustic.

The mother burned the firewood and boiled a few ears of green corn. The firewood was dry, and the flames were burning silently.

"Stay for a few days?" asked the mother.

I said of course to stay for a few days, accompany you to the road for nearly 20 years not fine way of homely.

Mother smiled, "You have been home Sparrow, only the hometown Sparrow know back to the nest." "In my mother's sense, I was as old as she was. The heart will give birth to a trace of roused.

Green corn cooked, stripped of the corn bracts, rice is very yellow. A grain of skin to eat, in the mouth is very soft, fragrant and milk.

Mother with me to peel corn to eat. The fire of the hearth is flashing yellow and yellow light, two faces suddenly suddenly rehmannia.

I suddenly found the feeling of hometown, that is, the warmth of yellow.

In the evening, the mother asked: "Where do you sleep?" Niang on this one piece potherb. ”

I said: "In addition to Niang potherb, nowhere to go." ”

Lying on the Potherb, feel this potherb is a long-lost mother bosom. Mother is in this potherb born of me, uncover mat, old Kang soil must still can smell afterbirth taste. Now, mother's son is big, mother oneself already old, but still fall asleep this potherb. Potherb is the eternal time of hometown, unchanging complex?

This night, the mother could not sleep, and her son could not sleep. Mother wanted to say something to her son, and he wanted to say something to his mother, but he didn't know where to start, but he could hear each other's breath clearly.

In fact, the years have made mother and child very diaphragm. But love, like breathing, although sometimes not feel, but a moment never stopped.

It was dawn, but I slept soundly. Sleep woke up, the small table has been placed beside. "The wine is warm to you, drink a few cups." "Mother Enron Road."

In the middle of the table, it was the yellow mud flask that had been used for generations.

Said warm wine, in fact, can be in the bottle, ladle into the pot. The mother gave her grandfather a bottle of wine, and now she gave her son a spoon of wine, and in her eyes the son was a man of weight.

I drank my mother's warm wine.

In my hometown days, I completely relaxed myself. Get up very late every day and sleep in the sunshine Pole. The mother never wakes me up and happily indulges her son.

"The mother's son is spoiled." "I'm joking with my mother.

"How many days can you spoil?" In the world, in addition to the mother son, who spoil it? ”

Listen to Niang words, heart unexpectedly gave birth to a hint of bitterness. Daughter-in-law good, the love behind is the gentle bondage; good son, Lun often put a burden called responsibility without any explanation to let you carry on; Friends good, Friendship always reminds you to maintain a helpless but is necessary for the soul equivalence ... All this, beautiful and sad, beautiful people feel a little tired.

Eat the mother's early wine, is to walk the road of childhood, climbed the mountain of childhood ...

The road is still, the mountain still, feeling but big change.

When I was a child high, I fell to the knees of the stone steps, has looked very short and short.

When I was a child, I looked at a well that was dizzy, and it looked very shallow.

The mountain road twists and turns long, but walked to walk, again walked back to the same place.

Prowl back to Mother's Zamenhof, see Zamenhof under the mother, Frost Snow has disseminated a large tracts of hair.

I could not help but a deep chant: Hey, hometown.

In the evening, sat cross-legged on the mother's Potherb, on the small table on a few pages, want to write something casually. The pen fell down, but wrote a few lines of words:

Hometown, like Mother's palm, although warm, but very small very narrow. It can not cover the wind and rain, can not stop the time, give you just some lingering memories, a little comfort; eventually you do not walk down from the palm of the hand, will also fall from the top, toward or slide toward the horizontal location place. This is an embarrassment, a helpless, but it is a necessity ...

After writing a few pages of paper, looked up at a sleeping mother, thinking that tomorrow is going to go, tears can not help hot shed.

Hometown, just like the palm of a mother