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Hometown is actually

Hometown is actually a constant thought. Because the hometown is far away. The age is far, many years have passed, ten years, twenty years, thirty years... Time has gradually drifted away from the thoughts, slowly becoming a distant, turned into a dream, turned into a sly and dim, It became a memory and imagination. Memories and imagination are thoughts, but they are just different thoughts. The hometown is produced. When I was a child, I saw the sericulture at the uncle's house. A big change. The bamboo was made up. The round shape was very strong. It was placed on a shelf made of wood. It was full of silkworms and fresh mulberry. Leaves, silkworms are constantly squatting on the mulberry leaves, a large piece of watery green, a white silkworm squirming in an arch, an open mouth licking the mulberry leaves, from the mulberry leaves The edge of the edge was a little bit in the middle, and in a short while, a piece of mulberry leaves was cut off. Sometimes, two silkworms and three silkworms smashed together a mulberry leaf, and soon the sap leaves were smashed. There is one stem left. The women in the team and the team kept picking the mulberry leaves from the outside mulberry trees, and then sprinkled them into the various scorpions to satisfy the stomachs of the hugely-sized silkworms who seemed to fill up forever... until they grew up, spit Silk, crusting, accomplishing their short but arduous mission... Silk is endless. A sly silk seems to never be exhausted. No matter how long it is, no one knows. Thinking, too. The long thoughts are also because the hometown has given too much, like the mulberry leaves fed to the silkworms, every day, every day, day and night. In spring, whenever it doesn't rain, you will sigh, oh��this is because the leaves of mulberry grow slowly when it is not raining. However, thinking, because of the age, has become a unique, only self-known, can not tell others to seek sympathy and understanding, and therefore can not be expressed in a language convinced by a contemporary, illusion and dream . The hometown of illusion, the hometown of dreams, condenses all the beauty of hometown, sincere, calm, warm, friendly, harmonious, kind, caring... all the best words, the most heartfelt sustenance, the most true pride, the most painful The sorrow is faint, and there are concerns. In an era of change, in an age when idyllic beauty is turned into a poisonous garbage dump everywhere, worry is more convincing than dreams. Thus, thinking also becomes fear. Thinking, or fear, is in the context of a history, an inevitable trend of an era, an idyllic, fairy-tale, dreamlike fairyland, ruthlessly placed as if it is turned upside down In the midst of change, all people are completely unprepared, sudden, fleeting, historical opportunities and historical changes, thinking, becoming confused and messy in the dazzling picture, emotional and intellectual entanglement, Wrestling, dreams and reality conflicts and collapses, thinking, just like the filaments spewed out in silkworm cocoons, as slender, as fragile, as long as they are, but thinking Newport Cigarettes , always like old, dusty, dim, under the oil lamp The pictures, brought back to the front, they were once alive, realistic, real, even though they have gone, have disappeared, have been buried by dust, have been completely covered by new pictures, they only exist in one's mind , become a kind of language that cannot be expressed in words, purely organic, stored with brain cells, not replicable, thinking. At that time, unlike now, people have advanced cameras, DVs, and recorders to keep everything. At that time, there was nothing, only memory, and two memories Marlboro Red , perhaps the most unreliable, the least complete, the least. Accurate, but the vitality of memory is the strongest, because it will live in a person's mind for a long time, as long as he is still alive. In the thought, the old house, the small river, the stone bridge, the tea house, the elementary school, the nun, the clinic, and the pick of the tofu brain, and the thousand on the spring river. Thousands of blooming flowers, the violent typhoon in the summer, the fields that linger in the autumn, the ice in the winter, the ice under the roof... that is never forgotten, the treasure that will never be forgotten Cigarettes For Sale , and forever treasured. In the thought, all the dead, still alive those words, still just like the ones that were just said in the past, kind, kind, loving, warm, those figures, still walking around in front of the eyes, in the house under the oil lamp, the board On the street, on the fields covered with mulberry trees, on the edge of the small bamboo forest behind the house, and when the boat passes under the bridge, the sound of the snorkeling is screaming. When the bamboo raft raises the water surface, the iron tip is very dazzling. Flash, the small steamer passed under the bridge, the monk's soot smell clock was walking, walking one minute and one second, unconsciously, after decades, the thoughts became a very long Very long silk, stretching, just like someone is tirelessly drawing from a silkworm cocoon, year after year, never tired, like the silkworm baby eating mulberry leaves, day and night Eat, never tire tired, in extension; thinking, also continuing.
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