A tree blossoms for half a lifetime

In my yard, facing the north door, there are two fruit trees. One is sturdy and tall, commonly known as Bapan; the other is thin and shorter, it is Nanyang pear. The roots of the two trees are three steps apart and on the same line, so it can be inferred that my father had a plan at the beginning of planting the tree.

If you look at it from a distance, you will not be surprised that they are so harmonious. Nanyang pear tends to the eight plates of Weian in the breeze, taking off a pair of birds according to human mood. The eight sets, even more arrogant, stretched its body longer and stretched out to the high and distant sky, which made people admire it.

At the beginning of my memory, they were standing there. The luxuriant branches and leaves cover almost half of the yard, showing a sunny and shady world for its owner to choose from. This can't be seen anywhere else, and I've always gladly thought so. Every time the breeze blows, the shadow is swaying in the yard, like a silhouette on the curtain; and it sings with the wind, "clattering", and sometimes falling a few gentle leaves, spinning and dancing, and then sticking them in the shade or in the sun.

It blossoms in March every year. I have never carefully observed its growth, but every year I see the flowers full of trees. For a period of time, its savings, spitting out the bud, and in full bloom, I will finish watching it during the lunch break, or I can catch a glimpse of it at dusk before the night comes, through the thin twilight. No one cares about the course of its life, because like all natural creatures, it is only a quiet existence, such as the flowers in the corner, the moss on the tiles, the wild lilies in the middle of the mountain, all growing out of sight of people. they have always been a lonely beauty.

I vaguely remember that once, when I was still studying, I didn't know what inspired me, or that the teacher had a writing arrangement for scene observation. I sat in front of the main house on a sunny afternoon and began to observe it carefully. First look from afar, then a close look, full of twists and turns all afternoon. When the twilight crow flies over the treetops with the sun, I don't have much to gain. Only cumbersome numbers such as long and bold are recorded in the draft book, except for a few old words to depict the scene. This can be said to be the only experience with which I have communicated with it attentively so far, but I was young at that time, how could I understand that we only have to feel nature attentively, and if we really want to take the sketchbook and put on airs and ask what happened, it's even farther away.

The village in March is submerged in a sea of flowers. In my hometown, there are not many kinds of trees, the common ones are apricot trees, pear trees and so on. Later, some names have been added, but there are always a few. When the flowers are in bloom, you walk on the village road as if you were walking in a forest garden, with high and low branches leaning against one man's high courtyard wall, swinging with the wind like you want to distribute the spring to passers-by. The warm wind brings the fragrance of undercurrent, which slows down your pace. Those early-fallen flowers lie in disorder on the road, so that you can not bear to step on them; you walk in another world, wrapped in fragrance, temporarily forgetting the troubles of the world.

When the sickle is about to be full, it is the charming time for the fruit trees. The pears full of trees hung down so heavily that the branches were bent. In the morning light, in the twilight, glistening bright, people can not help but want to taste. But my mother always said that the pear would not taste good until after a thorough frost. I can't help it, chatting every day, thinking about the transparent light on the bone blossoms in the morning.

Finally, I can satisfy my craving! Like a little monkey, I climbed to the top of the tree and ate the big people who were red in the skin and about to leave the branches. I was satisfied with the stomach that I had been waiting for for a long time. From then on, I only ate occasionally every day, but now I think it may be because the fruit and the tree are in the yard.

There is an interesting story about childhood that I have to mention. When he was still in the third grade, a classmate from a neighboring village had a comic book at home, which seemed to be his grandfather's collection. You know, at that age, comic books were our only extracurricular books. For me, who loves reading, I will not let it go. Fortunately, the classmate hated reading, but he didn't know where to learn about my big pear. We hit it off: a comic book and two big plates. In this way, I intermittently read the story of Xue Gang against the Tang Dynasty. There is also a Korean love story book with yellowed pages and missing covers. Later, I made the cover with a cigarette case and painted the title heavily with a pen, but now I can't remember it.

Now, the March breeze is blowing through the southern spring, full of flowers and willows, but can not raise my interest. I can only smell the flowers of the two fruit trees standing in the yard from the faint scent of flowers. I can clearly see the flowers full of trees swaying gently in the soft wind, singing low songs, as if accompanied by the dreams of the summer night of my childhood.

When can I see the prosperity of that tree again?

The author has the reflection of his left hand and the age of his right hand.