It is Qingming Festival and cool late spring. In this festival of gratitude and comfort to the dead, I hurried back to the old house full of family affection that gave me a happy childhood. The wicker is new day and night at the broken intestines in the hometown. But in today's old house, things have changed, and people go to the garden empty, and only the two barren graves in the distant mountains are the sustenance of my soul; only the deep affection in the tomb is the driving force that affects my annual pious worship. Although my dear parents have been gone for nearly 20 years, the love as great as that day has never disappeared with the passing of life, but is more intense. My heart is often filled with this kind of kindness like the sea, which is a kind of happiness with tears. My blood is surging with my father's strong and unyielding character, and my soul is the inheritance and reproduction of my mother's holy soul.
Miles of green hills, a bay of streams, sparsely populated paths, dense forest birds singing. I stumbled along the rugged mountain road with a heavy step, feeling the painful breath. A bouquet of white flowers, two lines of tears, deep nostalgia, and how heartache. Green grass in the withered branches and leaves in the green nature, the wind swaying holding in the hands of the vegetarian flowers, ripples in the heart. On the quiet hillside leading to my parents' mausoleum, my sorrow spread along the slender mountain road. Dear father and mother, I am here, and I am deeply grateful to see you with sacrifices.
Come to the parents' grave, pull up the weeds, set up sacrifices, light incense candles and burn paper money. Red tears, wisps of smoke, I feel the warmth of my parents when they are healthy, the incense is filled with incense, and the figure of my parents is faintly coming and drifting away in the smoke. I knelt in front of the grave, hand caressing the loess, Yin and Yang immortal regret, unable to support the east wind, feeling that a call has gone beyond time and space. How to measure the distance between life and death? I'm afraid there is no such close distance in the world, and there is no longer such a distance. Rest in peace, dear father and mother, we are all right, as happy as you had hoped when you were alive.
The vast expanse of heaven and earth, soul wandering; kowtow sorrow, Lingquan has knowledge. The mausoleum is serene and solemn; the tombstone is holy and ethereal. Life as a passer-by, death as a return; fireworks and dust, good luck. I know who I am for thousands of years, and my eyes are full of Artemisia annua. Dear father and mother, you are the eternal gods in my heart. I wish you happiness in heaven!
In recent years, Chinese people have also celebrated many Western festivals vigorously. I remember that Thanksgiving Day in the United States is on the fourth Thursday of November every year. I thought Ching Ming Festival was our Chinese Thanksgiving. According to legend, during the Spring and Autumn and warring States period, when he was hungry and fainted in exile, Jie Zitui cut a piece of meat from his leg and roasted it to him to eat. Nineteen years later, Chong'er became the Jin Wen Duke of the Spring and Autumn period. The Duke of Wen of the Jin Dynasty greatly rewarded those who shared adversity and forgot only Jie Zitui. When he suddenly remembered that he wanted to seal the reward, Jie Zitui had hid in the mountains with his mother behind his back. Duke Wen of the Jin Dynasty set fire to the mountain on three sides, leaving one side to wait for the meson to push out. After the fire, the meson was never pushed out. Unexpectedly, the mother and son died holding a charred willow tree, leaving a lapel with a blood poem in the tree hole: cut flesh and serve you with all your heart. I hope the master will always be clear and clear. The Duke of Wen of Jin ordered to set up a shrine on the mountain and set it on fire as a cold food festival, forbidding fireworks and eating only cold food. The Duke of Wen of the Jin Dynasty climbed the mountain the following year for a memorial ceremony, named the resurrected old willow as Qingming Willow, and designated this day as Ching Ming Festival. Qingming Festival is not only an expectation but also a long-cherished debt! With a rich contract between life and death, I'm afraid the debt will never be repaid. Our kindness to our parents and ancestors is not an inexhaustible debt.
The dead are gone, the living are like this; life is like spring flowers, death is like autumn leaves; live in the present, love is by your side.
Author: Bai Yue
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