Talk about the heart | Sit in the cropland

Figure | Visual China

◇ Li Xiao

An inexplicable anxiety is often surged.

What can I calm the inner anxiety wrinkles? The wind was stomping, and the green crops of the green oil were exposed over the rain, and I thought of sitting there.

In the early autumn, the hometown of my hometown sent me the chestnuts, walnuts, yam, pumpkin, eggplant, tomato, and cabbage. The food in these crops, with the genes of the land of their hometown, sowed the harvest season by season. Sometimes I feel that the crops of my hometown have never been dormant.

In that year, Grandpa dragged his house to the folds of the mountain, built the house with soil and stone, and put on the roof to put a large hat on the roof. patch. After building the house, Grandpa began to open up the thorny weeds behind the house. One hoe and a ditch and a monopoly. Grandpa has his own crops, and the waist rod standing on the mountain beam is also straight.

When I was a child, the dense corn forest lifted the wind. I saw Grandpa put down his hoe and lay in the cornfield. He looked up at a string of corn sticks with "beards" and grinned. I went into the corn forest one day and lay down with my grandfather. Grandpa pointed at the corn that emerged, saying that it was the beard of corn, and one day you also spent the beard.

Grandpa's life is a crop man. After 60 years of age, his thin body is like a bow, slowly approaching his reclamation land. In the autumn of the last year when Grandpa swallowed the world, when adolescence came, I had a soft beard on my chin, and I had some panic.

After I entered the city, I went back to the village again and again. I like to smell the taste of cow dung scattered on the mountain road, the flavor of fruits and wood in the wind, and the rice flavor in the mature rice.

One of my favorite things is to get into the crops, sit down, or lie down, open the lungs, breathe the breath of the crops, the breath of the soil, and the breath of landscapes and forests. This is the most nourishment of the lungs and nourishment.

The fourth of the native king, with more than 3 acres of melons, his strong body, just like the rolling winter melon in the ground. Wang Laosi is thick, and he can always eat the fruits and vegetables he sent from the countryside in different seasons. Once, Wang Laosi's bracelet hugged a winter melon full of white powder, and sent it to the door of my house, panting to me, you have to write a poem for me. I suddenly froze, and when Wang Laosi went downstairs, I suddenly woke up. I haven't written a poem for more than 20 years.

Once I returned home, I was chatting with Wang Laosi in his crops. Wang Laosi told me that after Bai Lu, he woke up in Guidi, and his eyebrows were covered with dew. I said to him, it's cold, don't sleep in the ground. Wang Laosi said, I like to sleep in the ground, they follow me. Wang Laosi said that they refer to the fruits and vegetables in the ground. In the hearts of Wang Laosi, they have life and spirituality. On that day, the fourth day of the fourth Wang of Mana had a deep exchange of each other in their hearts. Wang Laosi said that he relied on these acres of crops to spend the days often, and the wind was smooth and healthy all year round, and his family was healthy. I said, the fourth child, like you in the city, also cultivated my own crops. Wang Laosi froze, he suddenly understood again, nodded, that's it, that's it.

I also made a living in the city and also sowed in the pastoral one by one. In fact, I also slowly defend my life in a traditional farming method. The pastoral garden is to borders the crops in the township, which runs through the steaming ground on the ground, so that I will not panic and calm down.

The crops are the lifeblood of farmers. Watching the photography collection of Taiwanese photographer Ruan Yizhong, "People and Land", will have the strongest nostalgia. In the gray photos, the milky fog flows. Most of the photos are the fireworks of the plain villages in Taiwan in the 1960s and 1970s. The pastoral, mountains and rivers, and farmhouses, in the lens of the old -fashioned camera, scattered in the field of view, permeated a deep loneliness, and finally fell on the land deeply. One of the photos was a group of farmers harvesting crops. A group of children were sitting neatly by Tian Kan, looking at their parents and loved ones, and the figures in the crops. When these children grow up, their parents will entrust the land as heritage solemnly to them. Some of them will leave their hometown and go to the city to seek life, but the land has been stubborn in their young life. brand.

The crops are entangled in my life like a umbilical cord. When I went to the crops, I sat down and the ground was surrounded by the ground. I am a cloth in Cangsheng, and I am the red in the crops.

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Edit: Qin Xiaoyi

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