Time | Mou Lin: locust flowers open
Every pagoda flower fragrance season, my mind is particularly trance, the ripples of memory swing round and round, a soft heart floating fancy.In the pure fragrance of sophorae flowers, happy childhood and beautiful hometown play back like movies.Father is the main character in this old movie.Deep in the mountains, my father taught at dayi Danfeng Central School for more than 20 years.Surrounded by mountains on three sides and a river on the other side, the school is extremely beautiful.The old trees in the campus, shady trees, and a variety of fruit trees with luxuriant foliage.Jujube, loquat, grapefruit, chestnut, peach, plum and so on, different seasons have different delicious.Most of them are locust trees. They are green everywhere around the playground, outside the classroom window and beside the stone benches in the canteen.I like all white flowers, because the plainer the color, the stronger the fragrance.In a lot of fragrant white flowers, locust flowers always make me have a special liking.Every year at the turn of spring and summer, when locust leaves grow from the size of elm money into a green onion cage, locust flowers will appear from the green one by one.In a few days strings of pearly white flowers poured down from leaf to leaf, like a cascade of white, flowing into a fragrant sea.A feast of sight and smell, with the scent of spring mud and early summer sunshine.In memory, father is like a magician, always unexpectedly brought us all kinds of delicious fun, let our childhood is full of joy and fun.In that era of material scarcity, father for our healthy growth, homemade fishing rod, slingshot, with us fishing, mushroom, dig wild vegetables.Make black tofu with a wild fruit, pick a string of locust flowers and steam them with flour into a steamed bun.In our eyes, fathers are omniscient and omnipotent.The river in front of the school, in today’s words, is our splashing world.Locust flowers bloom and fade, summer singing happy ballads to come, the river has become our happy base camp, my father as my brother and I swimming coach.I had just turned six, and he took me by the chin and led me slowly into deeper water, letting go of me when I wasn’t looking.I immediately flurried up, flapping and pedaling, sinking and floating, choking do not know how many times after the water, I finally learned to swim.As the principal’s father, every flood season is always very nervous, every day early to the river to observe the water level, organize teachers to pick up students.One year, the flood was particularly severe and destroyed the cable bridge. My father ran around to raise funds and organized people to work day and night to build a cement bridge against time, thus solving the worries of crossing the river during the flood season.More than twenty years later, WHEN I returned to my Alma mater, I saw that the bridge was as strong as ever.Walking on the bridge, looking at the castle peak still, still water deep, can not help but tears full of eyes.It has been more than 20 years since my father passed away, but he is always standing in my heart like a bridge, majestic and handsome, serious and kind.The father’s image, to the present is also absolutely beautiful man, regular features, tall body, majestic.Father or a cooking expert, every holiday, always want to show cooking on the stove.Cold fried sea pepper and fold ear root, chopped meat celery, mapo bean curd, is my unforgettable delicious.Locust flowers open, my father will pick the flowers, carefully cut, and the soil eggs fried to me as a snack.Up to now, the faint fragrance is still lingering in the tongue.My parents were warm and kind people, and the house was always full of guests.Especially in the summer nights, when the smoke clears, the frogs bark, and the stars, my brother and I always fall asleep with the laughter of my father and colleagues.Father always said he was happy when everyone was happy.At that time, people’s life was very poor, my father’s monthly salary never accumulated, he always tried his best to help the people in need, and he enjoyed harmony and harmony.However, the day jealous talent, just over 30 years, his father suffered from rectal cancer and died.His illness should have something to do with daily life.Busy work, family needs to take care of, body uncomfortable but endure again.Began to bleed still insist on going to work, until sick in bed diagnosed as terminal cancer.It was too late. My father had been tortured by the disease for two years and died in the season when sophorae flowers were all gone, leaving me with endless sadness and remembrance.The stars change and the rivers remain unharmed.White locust flowers year after year hanging full branches, and falling in the wind.That light qingfen, not as rich as osmanthus, as mellow as rose, but so deeply let me miss in the heart.Like an old song, the words are blurred, but the rhyme can be sung freely.Scattered in the wind is the fragrance of flowers, but the bottom of my heart branded fragrant traces.Father’s figure as if still walking in this green mountains and rivers, father’s voice and face will always be treasured in the depths of my memory, forever.Mou Lin, member of Sichuan Prose Society, Sichuan Popular Literature and Art Research Association, member of Chengdu writers Association and member of Dayi Xiling Literature Association.Tell real stories, your own or someone else’s.The number of words in the control of 1500 words, original first.Call for contributions in Sichuan Province.Do not use attachments. Make sure the title is “Time”.Some works will be selected by the supplement of West China Metropolis Daily “Wide and Narrow Lane”.The author’s information includes the bank account name, bank account and outlet’s detailed and accurate information, card number, ID card number and telephone number.Submission email: firstname.lastname@example.org.