Wen Yanping | November of the mountains of the mountains
In November, winter has been established. The breath of winter has not yet arrived, and the emotions of autumn are still hovering in the mountains.
At this time, a piece of mango, such as white fog, like pink smoke, the field of intersection in this autumn and winter. They passed, and they crossed some stones in the mountains and some low -lying parts. They were looking for gaps that were disliked by mainstream plants, pierced the roots there, and sprinkled the declaration of life there.
So we saw it.
The mango flowers in November are booming.
Whenever I walk in the countryside, I always searched the Manghua subconsciously. In fact, I do n’t need to find it. They are so wanton, and they always follow the other weeds or other shrubs in front of them into their arms and hide them under the armpits. They were with the flocculent head, along the traction of the wind, slightly leaning but a tough body, under the green sun, or in the cold wind and rain, standing into their own gesture.
In November, Manghua was occupying the mountains, and Manghua was occupying my thoughts.
As long as I see its shadow, I stop. When the mango blooms, their leaves have not yet faded, and they are still greener to grow up towards the sky, but the tip of the leaves look infinitely affectionate to the land under their feet. A nest of Miscanthus rose like a fountain. Such hustle and bustle is so quiet, the fine -like seeds are full of the password of life in an orderly manner. Before the winter wind is taken away, it is full, mature, and ensure that as soon as you land on the ground, you can take root, you can then you can take the roots, you can then you can take the roots, you can then you can take the roots, you can then you can take the roots. Bringing out flowers, knotting seeds, waiting for wind.
I didn’t call it a mang at first. I called it “Maohu Cao” according to the name of our western Hubei Mountain.
I remember that when I was young, my father raised a buffalo. Every morning, I had to cut the cattle grass. I would follow him. During the April and Mays of the lunar calendar, the morning dew on the grass was shining in the sun. The thin and shiny sickle rang “fluttering”, and all kinds of weeds immediately lay their unique aromas and lay neatly on the hook rope of the father’s grass. If you encounter a piece of grass that is neatly grown like artificially, the time of cutting grass will be reduced by more than half.
The kind of grass, the leaves are slender, the veins are clear and well -proportioned, and a thick white stem in the middle is as beautiful as leek. I couldn’t help but touch it, and I fainted in the palm of my palm for a while. It turned out that it was not only thick and hard, but also the sharp edge of the blade -it staged a thin blood mouth on my tender three fingers. Said, it is “Maohu Cao”, and he can hold his hands.
So I met it in pain, and despite a bite of me, I didn’t hate it at all.
This is the mandarin grass, but it is the favorite grass that big buffalo. The father poured a large bundle of grass into the beef ring. The same, then opened the big mouth, stir up a ray of wrapping with its big tongue, and the chewing sounded “fluttering”, like a knife cut grass, so that I could not help but admire the cow’s tongue — – How thick is that!
I think it may be sweet, and Niu Er will love so much.
Although I haven’t tasted it, I have tasted another one called “Silk”. “Marrion” is much smaller than “Maohu”, they are like an adult man and a naive young child. In the spring season, when the hometown was only a high, there was a needle in the middle. It was pulled out and chewed in the mouth. There was a faint sweetness. We often chewed a lot like calves. Every time I see Niu eat “Maohu Cao” so happy, I think that since they all have the word “Mao”, it should be the same family, and the taste should be almost the same. Of course, now I already know that they are all gowris.
Miscanthus grows strong, and the stubborn stubble seems to have sprouts the next day, and it really has the style of “spring breeze blowing”. In those poverty -catching eras, this low grass has a great role.
It is one of the building materials. The grass covered the house is not green and green leaves. When the autumn and winter season, the grass becomes dry and cut back. In order to prevent the wind and wind and wind, the roof is very steep, and the snow -proof is also accumulated on it. Before I went to school, I stayed with my aunt in her old house for a few years. It was warm in winter and cool in winter and very comfortable.
At that time, there were old thatched houses, but many of them were disassembled. They were replaced with mud walls, but there were many bias or livestock in the grass cover, and there were also many thatched sheds of farm tools.
At the junction of the Zhangjiawan Highway and the small road, there is a bucket thick oak under the small road. The branches and leaves of oak are under the foot of the umbrella. We often rest on the root of the tree under the tree. In autumn, we are still under the tree. Pick up a few slippery rubber and hold this single time while rushing. There is a small flat on the side of the road. Later, there was a thatch tea shed on the flat ground. The adults said that it was the old man who lived here. The old man read the book. Finding things, who has lost the animal, who can’t find the key, and even whoever goes out to go out without a message, and will go to the elderly. It is said that I am still young and I have never seen it, but I haven’t seen it, but I haven’t seen it, but I haven’t seen it, but I haven’t seen it, but I haven’t seen it, but I haven’t seen it, but I haven’t seen it, but I haven’t seen it, but I haven’t seen it, but I haven’t seen it, but I haven’t seen it. People often listen to people say: When going to the old man of Wancai. There are no walls in the tea shed. The four crooked pillars support the top cover of that thatch, and a pillar pile is hanging a racerine, a chair, and a simple table on a simple table. Lin Qing tea, a porcelain cup is buckled upside down on the mouth of the pot. In the tractor in the 1980s, the pedestrians on the road could not talk about the endless stream, but they were intermittent. Then, rest in the shed, drink saliva, and walk another twenty miles.
This simple thatched shed, until I was in middle school, it was still on the side of the road, but the elderly had no energy to make tea and send it to the shed, and I couldn’t taste the tea, but it was still a good rest here. place. Many years later, this small thatch pavilion also had traces of traces of stars. The broken pillars stood in the wind, and the collapsed thatched grass lid lying on the ground.
When all this disappears, the highway has also become a cement road, bus, motorcycles, and more than many motorcycles. There are more than less pedestrians on the road. When people pass here, do you remember that there was a thatched grass here. tea kiosk.
The thatched house is even less, it only exists in the fairy tales.
But the growth of Mang ushered in a heyday. My father, he has not feed the cow for almost ten years. Even if the mang on the slopes on our family grows fast on the first floor, he has no effort to cut it.
The ignored mango seems to be lost and proud, because its growth area is getting wider and wider, and those deserted farmland has become their stage. My hometown Muyunping, the fields in the poplar slope of Baiyang Shushu, were uncle Jin. Uncle Jin had died. He had been in the field of responsibility, and now he can’t look at Miscanthus. It was like the sea in June.
It was the most important field of Uncle Jin. He was buried in the vegetable field in front of his house. The land could not be seen. I did n’t know if his grave head was planted according to the rules of our mountains. It is said that the hair of future generations will be as lush like Miscanthus.
I guess this is right. After flowering, my grandpa’s grave is like a huge corolla.
And our descendants are lush hair.
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